Wildest Dreams
by thisiswhyishouldn'twritefanfic
Summary: Third following Storms in Middle Earth and Forever Afternoon. Unsettling dreams and unknown threats disturb the peace of Ithilien, forcing a family of elves from the place they tried to call home and drawing others into danger once again.
1. No Rest for the Wicked or Weary

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter One  
Word Count:** 3,155**  
Rating:** T/PG-13, with discussions of/implied torture and some... death**  
Disclaimer:** Normally I'm wittier, but... I got nothing. I would say I own nothing, but that's not true. I created the original characters that are driving the plot, so... I guess I own something.**  
Summary:** Third following _Storms in Middle Earth _and _Forever Afternoon._ Unsettling dreams and unknown threats disturb the peace of Ithilien, forcing Firyavaryar from the place he tried to call home and drawing others into danger once again.  
**Author's Note:** Again, I told myself I wouldn't go right into another story. Not after the trouble I had with _Forever Afternoon. _I wasn't going to do another. I tried not to. I did. It's all Varyar's fault. He would not let it rest, and it wasn't like I had tied up every single loose end and subplot, so as much as I thought I could leave it there, I couldn't.

I'm taking the title from another Moody Blues song, this time "Your Wildest Dreams," which seemed fitting after I came up with the part that was _No Peace in Ithilien_, and when I rethought the first chapter into this part, it was even more fitting.

It remains to be seen if it stays that way, but I think with Varyar's tendency toward waking dreams and nightmares, it just might.

Some of the first nightmare may be familiar as it was originally a part of _Storms, _but the rest is all new.

* * *

**No Rest for the Wicked or Weary  
**

_He had missed the sound of the rain, the sight of the water, and the smell of the air._

_Most of all, though, he missed the way it cleansed. When the storm was gone, there was a peace and a renewal, and he would like to feel that way again—fresh and absolved, but he knew that it was not to be. He would never know that again._

_Ogol's hand tangled in his hair, and Varyar grimaced, trying not to shudder, though he knew __it did not matter if he did or not. None of his protests—no words, no useless struggles—could free him from this. He had to endure it, though he did not know how much longer he could. He was so tired already, so ready to fade..._

"_How beautiful you are, my pet," Ogol said, twisting his hand through the tangles of Firyavaryar's hair. "It is not right that you were born so fair. Elves are far and beyond the realm of natural beauty. All other races cannot hope to reach the state you were born into. I had always expected your parents to create something fine, but I had not thought perfection was possible. That is what you are. Perfect in form—a terrible shame you are not as perfect in function."_

_Varyar tried to yank free from his hold, but Ogol yanked him back using his hair this time. Firyavaryar bit back the cry, grateful to be able to breathe even if he did not care for the way he was being held._

"_Where are they?"_

"_Do you truly not know?" Varyar asked, wondering how that was possible. How had Ogol captured him and yet not been able to find his brother and sister? He did not want to say anything, not when he might say too much and lead Ogol to them. "You are not so great a sorcerer, are you? You cannot conjure the location you need."_

"_Do you think I need them alone for my army? That I have no alternatives?" Ogol asked, moving the hand from Varyar's hair to his cheek. "I know of at least one, and while I dislike your choice in _elleths, _I can find you another. It is time you created your own part of this army."_

"_No." Firyavaryar shuddered, trying to pull away. "I will not do that. I will not—"_

"_I will have my army," Ogol insisted. He pushed up Varyar's sleeve, smiling at the marks there. "You are mine. I know you have not forgotten that."_

"_I am not yours. I never have been, and I never will be," Varyar said. He pushed against the robes Ogol wore, and this time the sorcerer pulled on the chain, laughing as he did. Firyavaryar choked, unable to do anything but watch as Ogol retraced the marks on his arm._

"_Does it burn, pet?" Ogol asked. "It should. It should always remind you of what you are and who you belong to. Those things are inescapable. You will always be mine. Those marks will never go away. You cannot wash them, and you cannot deny them. Accept it—you belong to me."_

_Ogol let him go, dropping him to the ground, and Firyavaryar drew in air. He glared at the robes as they disappeared, but he knew that at least part of what the monster said was true. The marks did not go away. They did not wash off, and even when he thought they had faded forever, he saw them again. He could not be rid of them, could not get clean, not after what Ogol had done._

_He leaned back against the wall, wishing that the rough stone was of some comfort. He wanted to be outside, to breathe free hair and see the sky. He knew what he missed most of all, though. His family._

_They were safe. He would have to be content with that. He would keep them that way._

_Wrapping his arms around himself, Firyavaryar tried not to let the shudders control him. He was dirty from the orcs and Ogol and guilt, so dirty... He would love to feel the rain again, a good cleansing rain, the kind that started life again in the forest, that brought hope with each drop. Rain could be destructive, too, but even that would be a relief after the pain and darkness. He would just like the rain to be clean, but if he felt rain, then he would know he was free, and freedom was that dream that he kept holding onto, a faint hope when he told himself that hope was gone._

_He did not want to fall asleep here, as tired as he was, as sore and battered as his body was. He knew that he would dream of home—he did not understand how he dared call Greenwood home; it had never been theirs—of green trees and soothing rains, of warm sunlight and laughter. When he woke, he would find hard stone, dirt that irritated his wounds, cold darkness, and silence. He knew that dreaming meant more pain, but he did not know how to make himself stop._

_He no longer wanted to dream, though he would give anything for a bit of rain._

* * *

_The sea was endless. The sea was eternal._

_He could hear it calling to him even in his sleep, giving him no peace from the pull. He kept himself busy during the day, seeing to the needs of Ithilien, but when his eyes closed, his mind wandered to the distant shores. He felt certain that he could reach out and have his hand touch the water, and he could hear the waves breaking against the rocks, singing its own song to lure him into the appealing waters._

_To sail, to sail, if only he had a boat fair enough..._

_Sometimes Legolas saw it in those same dreams. He would stand at its center, gazing upon a lovely little ship, with sails of the finest elven cloth, shimmering in the sunlight as they danced in the breeze. He would smile into the sun, enjoying the heat of it as it warmed his face, a counter to the wind that brought with it the chill and spray of the water._

_The trees who gave their wood for this fine vessel had done so willingly, wishing the prince of Greenwood well on his journey into the distant lands. The water held no fear now, just a call that promised everything he could ever want or need. Legolas longed to rush to it, to be welcomed into the world that pulled at him._

_He would stop then, looking back at the shore, and when he did, he saw those he would leave behind. His father. Estel. Arwen. Their son. Gimli. Firyavaryar. Sérëdhiel. Idhrenion. Many others, all friends as dear as family, and yet he would leave them in an instant for the sea. What kind of loyalty did he have? Once, he knew, it was praised, valued above all else, but now he knew that he lacked it. He should be able to stay._

_What was water compared to family? What was some unknown land in the place of those he loved? Why did he not long to _stay? _He should. He knew that. That was his life, that had always been his life, so why did the sea try to tell him otherwise? He did not want the sea. It was a lie, a terrible trick. He wanted the trees and the birds and the animals of Greenwood. He wanted the sunlight and the songs of the forest._

_Most of all, though, he wanted the ones he loved._

_Why did he not stay?_

_He would jump from the boat then, intent on swimming to shore, but he had underestimated the sea. He had not realized that it was doing more than calling him. It was a jealous, bitter thing, corrupted by salt and hidden dangers, pulling him under the surface, unwilling to let him return. He would go to the sea or he would not survive. He belonged to the sea, not to anything or anyone else. It would not let him go._

"_Legolas!"_

_He heard someone calling his name, but he wanted to order them back. _No, no, it is not safe. _He knew it was not. Anyone who came after him, anyone who tried to help him, they would be caught in the water and pulled down with him. They would all drown._

_He could not let the water take them all. He had to stop this._

"_Take my hand, _mellon-nín. _Let me help you," Estel said, and Legolas wanted to reach for his hand. He did not dare._

"_Do not be so stubborn, _ion-nín," _his father said. "Let your _ada _help you."_

"_No. I cannot. You will sink with me."_

"_Don't be daft, you pointy-eared fool," Gimli said. "You're drowning for no reason. Bah! Idiotic elves that want to sail, they should be allowed to drown for their foolishness."_

"_No, Gimli," Estel insisted. "We will not abandon our friend now. Legolas, take my hand. I will bring you back to the shore. You are safe here."_

_Legolas reached for Estel's hand, but the sea's pull was greater, and he was ripped away from his friends and carried out to deep waters, never to see them again._

* * *

_The land burned._

_Everywhere Aragorn looked was engulfed in flames. They burned hot as the eye of Sauron had, as though his malice had returned to claim the land and lay waste to it despite the destruction of his ring of power. He did not know how to stop it._

_Below him, he could hear the screams of his people, of the women and children but also the trained armies of Gondor, all panicked, crying out for help, for aid, for something, anything. Aragorn could hear them, but he knew of nothing to do for them. He had failed. He did not know how the enemy had gotten close, did not know how they had caused so much destruction in so little time. This was not the same siege as had come against Minas Tirith before, not an enemy that they recognized and understood._

_They had repelled the enemy before, and he wanted to tell them that they would again, but he could not see how that would be possible. They were surrounded. The land burned. Everything was death and destruction, and they could not flee. There was nowhere for them to run, nowhere to hide. They could not go._

_They would all die, here and now, consumed by flame and shadow, devoured by the unseen enemy._

"_Where is your king now? Where is the one that would lead you from here and give you deliverance? Where is the one who would give you hope? You do not have any, do you? All that hope was a lie. The new age of men is a farce. You are all to die."_

"_No," Aragorn heard himself say, but he knew that his voice was too quiet to be heard by anyone else. He did not know who had asked the questions, that awful voice of doubt and worse. He could not combat what he could not see. "I am here. Peace, my brothers. Men of Gondor, I am here. I will—"_

"_You will fight me? You will save them? How? You are nothing, insignificant king. You do not know how to lead anyone. You cannot protect them. You cannot save these peasants. They are unworthy, and they will perish. Only my creation will be allowed to exist. The time of men? No, this is _my _time, and I will see to it that you all die."_

"_Show yourself," Aragorn demanded, wondering if he would feel better if the reforged sword was in his hands. "Show yourself and face the truth: you are a coward striking from the shadows. You cannot have this land or her people. You will not destroy us."_

"_Look around you. Osgiliath burns. Minas Tirith burns. Ithilien burns."_

"_No," Aragorn said, refusing to believe that. Legolas and his colony were alive. They were fighters. They would not have let their home fall. Osgiliath was rebuilt. It was not burning. This was only a nightmare, and he was not a child to be scared of them any longer. He was a king, and as a king, he could not allow himself to be afraid. He was not afraid—he would wake and this would all fade away into the nothing that it was._

"_Aragorn!"_

_The cry came from one whose voice was familiar to him, dearer to him than any other, and he tried to find the Evenstar's brightness in the growing smoke and darkness, but he could not see her. "Where are you?"_

"_Our son," she said, and Aragorn felt a sick coldness in his stomach. His son. The boy. He did not see him, but he did not need to see him to know that he was gone. Dead. The darkness had taken the child, and as he looked back at the flames, he knew himself tempted. He could let them go, let them overtake everything, to claim him and all the people, kill them as something had done his son, and he did not know how he could think that way, but how was he to fight knowing that he had lost the one he was supposed to protect? That child was the future of Gondor, his future, his son, and he had loved his child more than he would have believed possible until that he held his son in his arms for the first time._

_He was a father. A father was supposed to protect his children. He was a husband, but he could not protect his wife. He was a king, but he could not protect his kingdom._

_He had lost it all, and he did not even know how it had happened. He just knew that it was gone. All gone._

* * *

Firyavaryar's eyes opened, and he winced, his stomach twisting with the last of the dream—the memory—or was it only a dream? He no longer knew. He did not know what was real and what was not. He had not known that in so long, unable to trust himself or anything he might see in his tortured, fractured mind.

His body might have healed. His mind never would. He knew that. He knew the peace that Ithilien gave the others was not his to have. He could take no comfort here, no refuge. He had thought that giving his family this place, this _home, _would be enough, that it would give them what they had lacked for so long, but he should have known that he still had no place among the peaceful.

He had not redeemed himself at all. He had been denied death again, and for _what? _For endless nightmares that plagued him day and night? Would Ogol laugh at that if he were here? Would he have delighted to know that even now Varyar had not managed to break those shackles, the ones binding him so tightly to the past?

He could hear the gentle sounds of the night around him, the creatures of the forest going about their nocturne activities, and he wished that they were more soothing a sound. He had spent many centuries listening to Idhrenion's snoring, but even if he tried sleeping near his brother, he did not find himself able to rest. It had once been that Idhrenion's snores could lull him, could help him believe that they were all safe since they were together, but he did not believe that now.

Varyar knew the truth: there was no safety. Not here. Not in Greenwood or Imladris, not anywhere in Middle Earth, not even with Sauron defeated. He knew that it did not exist.

He started to rise, grateful to have avoided sleeping on Lothanlass this night. The _onod _was not as much of a nuisance now as he had been when Firyavaryar first woke him, but he did not want the ent following him. He did not need to wake the entire camp because he could not sleep. This was no rare occurrence—he did not know when the last time he had slept was—and why should his disturbance mean that of everyone?

It did not have to, and he would not let it.

He pulled his cloak close around him as he made his way through the woods, passing trees that stirred some at his presence and shrank away from him. He had thought that reaction would end after the poison was gone from his body, but he was wrong. The trees still understood him to be a monster, and he did not know that he could disagree with them.

He did not touch any of them as he moved around them. He did not know where he intended to go, and he did not know that it mattered where it was.

He did not know that anything mattered now.

The moon came in through the gap in the tree cover, and he looked up, startled by its brightness. He could not remember ever seeing a moon so bright before, and he had known many nights under the stars, in so many places and lands, more than he could name. He was not the oldest of elves—had no desire to have that distinction—but he knew that the moon was not like that normally.

He shivered, his sense of unease growing. He did not know why the moon was altered, but he did not think it could be a sign of anything good—he did not know that it was anything more than his mind, but even if it were not, he did not care for it. He thought he felt a chill, and he did not get chilled. He was an elf. He was not cold.

He rubbed his arms, trying to tell himself to stop being foolish, but he stopped when he saw what moving his sleeve had uncovered. He stared, shaking his head in disbelief. That was not possible. It was the moon. The dream. His mind.

He was insane. He knew that, and he did not trust himself. He did not. He could ignore what he had just seen. It was the light. The moon. The lack of sleep. Any of those things and not what it seemed to be at all.

He closed his eyes, but when he opened them, he saw the same thing as he had before, and he heard familiar laughter in his head. He covered his ears, but he was unable to shut out the voice he hated most. _You are mine. You will always belong to me._


	2. The Night Lingers On

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Two  
Word Count:** 5,545**  
Rating:** T/PG-13, with discussions of/implied torture and some... death**  
Disclaimer:** Normally I'm wittier, but... I got nothing. I would say I own nothing, but that's not true. I created the original characters that are driving the plot, so... I guess I own something.**  
Summary:** Third following _Storms in Middle Earth _and _Forever Afternoon._ Unsettling dreams and unknown threats disturb the peace of Ithilien, forcing Firyavaryar from the place he tried to call home and drawing others into danger once again.  
**Author's Note: **It is amazing how long one night can be when it is put down in fiction, but I didn't expect this one to be as long as it became, but I wanted to do more than just repeat _No Peace in Ithilien _for chapter one, so that was why I extended the nightmares and restlessness, carrying that extension over to this chapter.

I have to say, writing Arwen was difficult. I didn't find her character easily, and I still worry that she sounds too much like Sérëdhiel, but it made sense to have Arwen there with Aragorn, so I tried. I wrote it, passed it along to ask if it sucked, was told it was all right, and then I rewrote it anyway. I hope I made it better.

And while the scenes from _No Peace in Ithilien _are included here, I have made changes to them, so they're not quite the same.

* * *

**The Night Lingers On **

Sérëdhiel lifted her head, her hand pulling back from the coldness beside her as her other arm drew her son close to her. She did not want to wake the _gwinig,_ but she could not lie back and pretend that all was well when Nostalion no longer slept beside her. She shifted Tirithon in her arms and sat up, looking around their camp for her mate.

He must have heard her stirring, for she had no sooner sat up than he had returned to her side. He looked down at her, and she released a breath. He was fine, but that meant that something else—someone else—had drawn him from their sleeping area, away from her and their son.

"Will the other sentries ever be enough for you?" She asked, forcing herself not to look down at Tirithon even when he grabbed at her hair. "Will you ever feel safe here?"

Nostalion ignored the question, as he did many that he knew she would not like the answer he would give. "Varyar left the camp again."

She grimaced. She had noticed her brother's habit of doing that, something he had been doing before they reached Ithilien, though she had hoped that he would stop when they did reach Legolas' new colony. That hope was a vain one, as were most that concerned her brother. "Did he go far?"

"No." Nostalion sat down beside her, freeing her hair from Tirithon's strong grip and managing a small smile as he did. She smiled herself, not wanting to dwell too long on other fears—most of them proved foolish—that had overtaken her when she had learned that she carried Tirithon inside her. She had not known how he would react to having a child, did not know if he would be pleased or angry, but now she saw his love for his son was as fierce as his love for her and his loyalty to Firyavaryar. She loved her husband even more now than she had before their child was born.

"Then you are telling me not to worry?"

Nostalion looked up from Tirithon to shake his head. "I know you will regardless of what I advise. I am not ignorant of your nature."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I suppose we all seem like fools, hoping that this place could at last be home, that it could be safe and give us the peace that we have been missing all of our lives."

"I would not call you foolish."

She laughed. "Indeed, you know better than to _say _such things, but you might _think _them anyway."

He lifted a hand to her cheek. "I could never think of you less than you are. You are more to me than anything except perhaps this little one."

She smiled at him, wrapping her hands around his. "I know, and that is what torments you now."

"Torments?"

She nodded. "You feel a need to go after Varyar, to stop him from his wandering and perhaps fight whatever it is that makes him restless. You feel you should, yet you do not want to leave us, either."

"Your brother will want to leave," Nostalion said, his voice quiet, and she tried not to flinch. She knew her brother, knew the way he thought the same as Nostalion did. "Each night he has gone further than the night before."

"Has he spoken to you? Told you anything of what is troubling him?"

Nostalion shook his head. "He has said nothing to me."

She sighed. "If he has not confided in you, then he has confided in no one. I do not like when he keeps things from us. It is different if he tells us even a part of it, but he has told nothing to anyone, and that worries me. He should not be alone in the darkness that is his mind."

"You want answers?"

She wrapped her arm around Nostalion's, holding on as tight as she could. "I want to believe that you and he will not leave us, but I know I cannot. I know that something will drive Varyar from here as it has driven us from every place we have tried to settle."

"I can force him to stay," Nostalion offered. She tried to smile at him, but she could not. "Sérëdhiel, I will not let your home be taken from you, not even by him. You know this. You and Tirithon will be safe."

"I know," she whispered, for she did not doubt that he would do what was necessary to protect them. She knew her brother would as well. She did not truly fear for herself or her children. She feared for Nostalion and Firyavaryar. She knew that they would leave. Even if Varyar went alone, someone would have to go after him, and that someone would be Nostalion.

"Your brother has always had nightmares," Nostalion reminded her. "This is no different from any other night."

"You are awake. If it is not so different, why were you out of bed?"

"Tirithon kicks in his sleep."

She snorted. "That is something Varyar would say, not you. Do not lie to me. If Varyar woke you, it is not an ordinary night or an ordinary nightmare. Or did you wake because you had one of your own? You never speak of yours, either, and I fear we give too much attention to Firyavaryar and not enough to you."

"I do not need or desire attention."

"Oh? Should I not have married you? You did not seem to mind my attention when we created Tirithon."

Nostalion smiled at her, pulling her into his arms, and she let herself rest against him, taking comfort from his presence. He would leave again as soon as she and Tirithon had fallen back asleep, but perhaps this hold would be enough to let her sleep through the rest of the night.

"I love you," she told him, and his lips pressed against her forehead, making her smile despite everything.

* * *

The night was still when Legolas woke from his unpleasant slumber, unsettled by the pull of the sea that he could still feel. He shook his head, wishing to clear his mind of the dream and his heart of the longing. He did not understand how the call could be so strong when he was where he wanted to be. He did miss the land of Greenwood, his home, and he missed his _ada, _but he had a place here in Ithilien where life was flourishing, the ground renewed and his people's spirits high, where the shadow was gone and the land was not full of reminders for them.

He had more in Ithilien than he had thought he would have. He had spent many days with Faramir and with those of his people that had come to stay with him, this fledgling colony of his, and he took comfort in being close enough to Estel to be able to answer when he was needed—but not too close to be in the way. This was ideal.

No, it was more than ideal. It should have been perfect, for the last part to make this paradise complete had come not long ago, in the form of Firyavaryar and his family. Legolas thought that at last they had a place where they would stay. A home they would not be forced to run from. This was his land, and while he did not know that all of the elves that had already come were pleased by his decision, they would not go against it. This was peace, true peace, for all of them.

Only it was not. It could not be.

Legolas looked toward the edge of where Varyar's group had taken residence, frowning as he did. He had noticed his friend's custom of sleeping apart even from his family—something he had not done before, in Greenwood—and he knew it was not for the sake of the _onod _as he had claimed.

_Sérëdhiel covered Varyar with a blanket, glancing up at the ent with a sigh. Lothanlass hummed contentedly, mostly asleep, pulling Firyavaryar closer, and Legolas smiled as he saw it, though he did not know how that had not woken his friend. Sérëdhiel shook her head, replacing the blanket. "Stop moving him."_

"_It is a warm night. You need not be cross with him, and I do not think Varyar will need the blanket."_

_She looked up. "I thought you had gone to sleep already, Legolas."_

"_No, tonight I am among the sentries," he said, though he frowned. "You sound as though you do not want me to be—is there something you would conceal from me now, _gwathel?"

"_I do not wish to hide anything, but I know this slumber will not last, and I do not want him to hear me speak of it, for you know how he feels about his secrets," Sérëdhiel said, her voice dropping to a lower whisper. "He was always cold when the poison was within him, though he would not admit it, even to me. I could see it, though, as I have seen much he prefers hidden, and I know that even without that poison, he still feels a chill."_

_Legolas looked at his friend. "I cannot see it. Yet I fear there is much that I cannot see in Firyavaryar, much that I should have seen, and more that I was unwilling to see."_

"_We all want the best, to believe the best of those we love—"_

"_I do not think that excuses my behavior. I was unwilling to listen to him when we were younger, and because I would not, you all left and were forced to wander, and he suffered so much—"_

"_That was not your doing, and you cannot blame yourself for it. I think much blame has gone about that is unnecessary, and I do not think that we need persist in it. It helps no one, though I admit it is not easy to let those things pass as they should." She reached over to comb through her brother's hair, and Legolas thought it was fitting that she was finally a mother, as she had been suited to the role all her life. "I know that too much blame fell on your friend, and little was his fault."_

"_Only a certain amount of stubbornness," Legolas said, trying for a slight smile. "Estel was not to blame, though it was hard, I think, not to see it that way. I was frustrated when he would not accept my decision to forgive Firyavaryar, and he was frustrated with me for doing so. It was no one's fault."_

"_Except Varyar's."_

_Legolas shook his head. "No. I think if anyone is to blame, it is Ogol. He took all of you and forced Varyar to make the only real choice he could then. I saw that back then, but it is hard not to blame the one who _made _the choice, regardless of how necessary the choice might have been. I did not want to ask, but I think I might have to—did you ever manage to find enough forgiveness for Mithrandir?"_

"_I have tried. It is hard, though, for I know that if Varyar truly thought his poison was needed, he would have kept it. Instead, he __was trapped __without choice, without hope. __It is difficult to forgive him for that kind of pain. That seems foolish, but that is the kind of pain that Firyavaryar does not cope with well. That is the kind of pain that hurts him—physical wounds are nothing. He has long since passed where those bother him. Death does not frighten him. Having to live after betraying you while being unable to touch, __unable to be the brother he had once been to us..."_

_L__egolas frowned. "There is so much I do not know about him anymore, so much I cannot hope to understand, and yet I have always considered him one of my closest friends. How can I say that now? I do not know him."_

"_You do not understand all of the darkness in him, and you are fortunate that you do not," Sérëdhiel said. "Nostalion understands the darkness, and that makes them close. You may feel it makes them closer, but there is a part of Varyar that Nostalion does not understand and cannot reach. You alone have made him laugh as we did when we were elflings. That is a valuable piece of friendship. Do not think it is not."_

_Legolas shook his head. "Perhaps it is not enough."_

"_You have a bond that does go deep. It has never broken despite these trials," she said, touching Legolas' arm. "Distance, too, has not been able to break it. You are _gwedeir. _You will always be that. You will have to learn about each other again, but you already know the parts that matter most."_

"_You are still wise."_

"_That is not surprising," she said, rising. "I am female, and therefore not prone to the stupidity that plagues you males."_

_Legolas tried to glare at her, but he found himself laughing instead._

His smile faltered when he looked back at the _onod. _The blanket was bunched up next to the ent's roots, but no elf used it for a bed. Firyavaryar was gone.

* * *

"I do not know that you should have left Ithilien."

Aragorn frowned, wondering how he had missed the sound of footsteps behind him, of the catch of her skirts against the floor of the room, but he had not heard anything as Arwen approached him. He would have asked her if the child woke her, only she did not hold their son in her arms as she usually did late at night. He frowned. What had woken her if not the boy?

"What are you doing up?"

"Should I not ask the same of you?" She countered, coming up to stand beside him. "Why is the king always out of bed these nights? Did something happen in Ithilien that worries you?"

Aragorn shook his head. "No. You know it did not."

She nodded. "So I thought. You came back from there lighter, and it seemed as though you had shed your burdens while you were there. It had been too long since you saw Legolas, and that alone should have been helpful, but you also told me of your conversation with Legolas, one that ended the misunderstandings that divided you."

"All of that is true."

"Why is it that you seem to have no rest these nights?" Arwen asked, her expression troubled. "Nothing has happened here since your return. If it is not here, then I would believe it was there, but if you tell me it was not, I believe you, but something _is _wrong."

"Yes, it is." Aragorn sighed, looking down at the courtyard. He did not know that he could explain what was troubling him or why it had come to him now. "I do not know. It was not that anything happened in Ithilien. You were right. I was happy there. Legolas and the elves have established something close to paradise. It was peaceful there. Ithilien is a refuge, and I hope it always remains that way, even if..."

"You fear it will not?" She ran her hands over her arms, and he wondered if she felt a chill now that she had chosen this mortal life bound to his. "You fear that Firyavaryar's presence will cause Ithilien harm? Or just Legolas?"

"Strangely, no. I did not leave there thinking I was leaving Legolas with the enemy," Aragorn admitted. He did not like Firyavaryar much, but he had not thought the elf's arrival was a portent of doom, not this time. "I do not think—I think that the greatest harm he could cause now is to leave Legolas again. Though he hid it well, I was able to see signs of the sea longing in him, but he was able to laugh and play with Firyavaryar as though they were children, and Legolas needs that. He needs reasons to stay, and though I do not like it, I believe that Avari understands more of Legolas' current pain than any of us can hope to—he told me how it was for him being unable to touch anyone. No, it should be good to have Firyavaryar there."

"Yet you are troubled."

Aragorn nodded. "I admit that I have felt the weight of my responsibilities even more so since my return—Ithilien gave me a reprieve from them that I did not realize I needed, but I did not expect to have that burden show itself in nightmares."

"Do you believe that you should not have them?"

"After all I have seen and done, I think it is surprising that I have as few as I do," Aragorn said, knowing his words were true. He had lived many years and done things that he did regret. He closed his eyes, letting out a breath. "Yet I have not known dreams like this to persist like this when nothing is wrong. We are at peace. Sauron is destroyed. Gondor is being rebuilt, resettled. This is a good time, a time most of us thought we would never see. There is peace, and not a watchful one, but a _true_ one. I do not understand. Why am I having these dreams if I have nothing to fear?"

"I think, much as you might wish that last statement were true, you know it is not. You know that fear does not always fade the instant a battle is over.," she said, reaching up to take his face in her hands. "There is still much to fear without a great enemy. We _all_ have our fears. We worry over some foolish things and some not so foolish things, but we have not forgotten fear even if we enjoy peace."

"You sound like _Ada."_

"Do I? I was trying to imitate Galadriel," Arwen said, laughing a little. She shook her head. "I do not pretend to have their wisdom. I cannot, but I _do_ think that you are worried about more than just the ordinary responsibilities of the kingdom and the ones concerning our family and your friends."

Aragorn lowered her hands so that he could embrace her, closing his eyes as he did. He did not know how to speak of what he had seen in his dream. "I feel foolish."

"If this dream belonged to Legolas or one of your other friends, would you consider them a fool?"

"No."

"Then why must you be one?"

He grimaced. She was close to making him feel like a fool for a different reason, though he did not believe that was her intention. She was trying to help him _not _be one. "There was someone, some threat, that I could not see or know, but the kingdom had fallen. I failed them. They were all dead. So was our son."

She stiffened, and he wanted to soothe her, but he did not know how to calm himself, not yet. "You fear this will come to pass?"

Aragorn hesitated, but then he nodded. "I do not see how—Sauron is defeated. The ring was destroyed. The kingdoms are united. Old feuds are dying out. We know peace. Where is this terrible threat? How could it overwhelm us so quickly? How could it take everything so quickly?"

"I do not know," she said. "Perhaps it is not that it happened quickly, but that we failed to see the signs of what was coming until it was too late, and it seemed sudden, but it was not sudden at all."

"Do you think we have missed something?"

"It is always possible," she said, sighing quietly as she leaned against him. "Perhaps it would be best if you did return to Ithilien. You have advisers here, but I think it would be better if you took counsel from Faramir, Legolas, and Gimli. Your friends know best what would trouble you, and even if there were nothing at all, you would have the comfort of their presence."

"You think I need to seek comfort away from my family?"

"You do not have to leave us. I will not make you go, nor would I refuse to come if you asked me to accompany you. If you think it would be better if we stay in the city, then we will remain," Arwen answered. She looked up at him with a smile. "What I want is to restore peace to you and your nights, even if that means letting you go. I can bear any separation as long as I know you will return."

"I will always return for you," he promised, tightening his hold on her. "Not that you need worry about it now."

"You will not go?"

"Do not sound so disappointed. I'll start to think you _want _to be rid of me."

"No," she said. "That is not what I want, but I do not want you to avoid this, either. If the source of distress is in Ithilien or if it is your friends you need, then you should go. That is all I am saying."

"I know, but you are not listening," he teased. "I told you that you do not need to worry about my return, and you do not. You are coming with me."

She smiled. "Very well. First, though, you will come with me."

And he let her lead him back to their bed.

* * *

Legolas cursed loudly, dismayed. He had not meant to speak, did not want to wake Lothanlass, but he had been overwhelmed by the feelings that the sight of that blanket had caused. He remembered a thunderstorm that seemed to be his own tears when Varyar and his family left in the night, the words of notes not softening the blow, and though this time there was no note, that did not make it any less devastating to see that empty space. "He is gone again."

"Yes," Nostalion agreed, his voice as quiet as his steps. Legolas had almost missed the other elf's approach, but then he was almost accustomed to that. He knew the assassin to be quieter than most, and he did not like admitting to the deficiency in his own hearing that allowed Nostalion to pass by unnoticed most times, but he did credit the other elf's years of training for that. "You wish to find him?"

Legolas could not answer that. He had tried pushing Varyar for answers in the past, and that had ended with his friend departing for centuries. He did not want that to happen again. Firyavaryar and his family had come to Ithilien for the peace—the _home—_they had been without for most of their lives. Legolas did not want to drive them away from it. He did not know if going after Varyar now would help or harm. Was it better to know that people cared and to see them fuss? No, that did not sound like what Firyavaryar would want at all.

He did not know much of his friend after the intervening centuries, but he did know that Varyar hated being pitied. He hated knowing he had made others worry. He saw those things as failures. Legolas would not add to those feelings if he could avoid it.

He did want to know where Firyavaryar had gone, though. He knew the fear had not completely faded, the one that told him that Varyar had left Ithilien for good, that he would not return to them unless he was forced to. That was more troubling than Legolas wanted to admit. He turned to the elf next to him, feeling foolish as he spoke.

"Will he come back on his own?"

"Perhaps."

Legolas glanced at the assassin, wondering how Firyavaryar tolerated that elf's attitude. He had Gimli, and the dwarf's disposition was often foul, but Nostalion was an elf, and while Legolas had known many that were grave, wearied by time, he had never known one as embittered as Nostalion—not unless he thought of Varyar, though Firyavaryar still laughed, something Nostalion did not seem to do when he was not with Varyar.

"You can find him if he does not?"

Nostalion nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a breath. "He is not far, and he is unharmed."

Legolas smiled, grateful. "Thank you. I know you had no reason to reassure me, to use your unwanted talent for me, but you did, and I am indebted to you."

The assassin snorted. "Varyar and Sérëdhiel consider you their _gwador. _I would not like to have a reason to kill you and upset them both."

Legolas laughed, shaking his head at the elf's manner. He understood now—under those words was—as in the case of a very grumpy dwarf—a grudging acknowledgment of respect. He did not imagine that he would ever be the friend to Nostalion that Varyar was, but he knew that it was not Nostalion's affection for his family alone that stayed his hand. He had seen something of worth in Legolas, and he held back for that as well.

"You are as insane as he is," Nostalion observed with a frown. "Yet he has a reason—he was tortured past sanity centuries ago—you were not."

"I am his friend. Is that not reason enough?"

That almost got a smile from the other elf. "Perhaps."

* * *

Firyavaryar sat with his eyes half-closed, refusing to look at his own hands. He had given up on trying to shut out the voice in his head—he knew that would not happen—and concentrated on not seeing what he could not have seen before. His mind was fractured and flawed, and he could convince himself of anything if he wanted to—he had held onto some impossible hopes before, and what was this but an impossible hope?

He did not open his eyes when he became aware of the presence beside him. Though the poison was gone from within him, he still knew the feeling of the shadow when Nostalion was near.

"I suppose I should wonder that it was you and not a certain prince coming to seek me out, but then I should not because he is not half the tracker that you are, even if he is a wood elf."

Nostalion did not respond. He came closer, sitting down on the rock next to Firyavaryar. Varyar looked back out into the distance, keeping his eyes half-shut. He did not know what he sought out there, nor did he truly believe he wanted to know. He only needed something to focus on that was not his hands. Why could he not be content with what he had? His family was safe. They had a home—a true home—for the first time in centuries. They were happy.

He could not allow himself to ruin that. He would not.

"Did Legolas think it too noble to come for me?" Varyar asked. He snorted, displeased by his own attempt at humor. That was not amusing. It was unlike him, and it was not right to say that of Legolas, either. "Or is he afraid of you and so he did not dare come when you wanted to?"

"You know he is not afraid of me. Nothing would keep him from you as no one would keep you from him. You are _gwedeir."_

"I would tease you and ask if you are jealous, but I know you are not, and I have not the energy for any foolish teasing." Firyavaryar sighed. He rubbed his neck, body aching with the kind of fatigue that elves should only know if they were injured. He was not, but lack of sleep did come to feel the same as one after enough time.

"This is the third night you have left our company," Nostalion observed. "I should, I think, cause you harm for that which you have inflicted on others."

"I did not want Legolas to know. It was not my intention to cause Sérëdhiel to worry. Or to upset Eruaistaniel as I know I have," Varyar told him. He did not want to think of the pain he was causing, for it did not stop him from this course, no matter how great the guilt. "And I did not want to disturb you, either."

"We are none of us fools."

"I know that."

"Why attempt to treat us that way?"

"I cannot rest, Nostalion. I have tried, but it eludes me. I know no peace, not even in this sanctuary." Varyar looked at the assassin, feeling weaker than he had when he carried a plague within him. He was so pathetic now. "My dreams have long been nightmares. Were that my only distress, I think I would have withstood it better, but I am also tormented by waking dreams. I cannot stop these memories, these thoughts..."

Nostalion looked at him. "What thoughts?"

"The _echil_—I suppose I should not call him that; he is a king now—he told me that I somehow bargained with Ogol to free that _elleth._ Legolas spoke of her to me as well. He thought it would comfort me, but it does not. I have tried to determine what I could have done to free her, but I can think of nothing. I had nothing with which to negotiate, no leverage to use. He would not have let her go when he had me captive. I was able to trade Legolas for my family only because I was not already a prisoner. My life was forfeit to him. Any offspring I might have were forfeit as well, so what could I have used?"

"The children of your siblings?"

Varyar stared at him. "You think I could be such a monster? I know Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion were not married then, had not met you or Alassë, but I could no more condemn a niece or nephew than I could either of them. Do you think I would do that to Tirithon?"

"You mistake me," Nostalion said, though his voice carried anger and warning in it. "I do not. You know I would kill you before you could touch my son. Even if I did not—you are always loyal to your family. You would not do anything that would cause them harm. That does not mean, though, that you might not have leveraged the possibility of it for something immediate. As you said, Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion were not bonded to anyone at the time. They were unlikely to produce children before you could put measures in place for their safety—or ensure that children were impossible."

Firyavaryar grunted. "You think I could render either of my siblings infertile? That is Meligur talking, is it? Is that what he has done in the past?"

"No."

That Varyar did not quite believe—he thought in some ways Meligur controlled his family too much like Ogol or Draugminaion would, and it was not as though Turvuin had not died for the crime of having twins—but he ignored that for now. "I could not have promised Ogol my siblings' children as leverage. If I had, I would have made him more determined to have them _and _their children_._ I do not know how I could have done anything for that _elleth._ There was no bargain."

"You think that your friend and the _echil _were lying? Or do you believe that the lady of the wood was the liar? That this _elleth _she showed Legolas was involved in deceiving him?"

Firyavaryar hesitated, for he had no good answer to that question. He could not be certain of anything with that _elleth—_he had thought her dead. "I do not see why the _echil _would lie, and I do not think Legolas would have lied to me, either. I cannot think of a reason why Galadriel would lie to him, but she may have. I do not know her well enough to say she did not. I _do_ know I had nothing to offer Ogol in exchange for that _elleth's_ freedom."

Nostalion nodded. "And this is what keeps you from rest?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Varyar lowered his head. He hated himself for this weakness, for this pathetic nature of his. He did not have the strength to speak of it, and he would try and avoid it, but no, that was cowardice. He would not allow himself cowardice, even if he was weak. He wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered. "I saw them again. The marks. They were back."

The assassin stiffened. "Are you certain?"

"No. I cannot be. I have not slept in so long and my mind is... unstable, unreliable... I do not know if I can trust my eyes, but if the marks are back, then—Ogol _is_ alive. He must be. And if he is alive, he _will_ come for me."


	3. The Slight Clarity of Morning

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Three  
Word Count:** 4,908**  
Rating:** T/PG-13, with discussions of/implied torture and some... death**  
Disclaimer:** Normally I'm wittier, but... I got nothing. I would say I own nothing, but that's not true. I created the original characters that are driving the plot, so... I guess I own something.**  
Summary:** Third following _Storms in Middle Earth _and _Forever Afternoon._ Unsettling dreams and unknown threats disturb the peace of Ithilien, forcing Firyavaryar from the place he tried to call home and drawing others into danger once again.  
**Author's Note: **I didn't mean for this to take so long to set up. I was actually expecting a certain elf to leave before this, only a certain other elf reminded me that some other things needed to happen before he left. Plus he was supposed to stay at least until someone else arrived, which did not make it into this chapter. It will be in the next, though.

* * *

**The Slight Clarity of Morning  
**

"If he comes, we kill him."

Firyavaryar laughed, looking at his _gwador _and trying to summon a smile. "You make it sound so simple, but even with your skills, I do not believe it will be. He should have died when I bit him. He did not. He should have died when I pushed him over the edge. If he did not, then he will not be easy to kill. Do you not think that were it simple, I would have achieved it when I was still an elfling? Yes, I was small, but I was desperate. I would have done anything to free myself and save my family."

Nostalion grunted. "Desperation makes us clumsy. It is not surprising that he lived."

Varyar shook his head. "It cannot be that alone. I do not care how clumsy that fall was—that _should _have killed him. It should have killed me. There is no explanation for why it did not. Or for my own survival."

The assassin pulled him to his feet. Another elf might have lost an arm or perhaps a head, meeting with one of Nostalion's blades and a quick death. Those were the fortunate ones. The swiftness of Nostalion's kills was far more merciful than anything Firyavaryar had received.

"Are you suggesting that you owe your survival to Ogol?" Nostalion's voice came out in a low, angry growl. Anger in the assassin terrified most people. Varyar was immune to it, having lost fear for his own life years ago. "Did that thing save your life?"

"I do not know," Firyavaryar heard himself whisper. He pulled himself free of the other elf's hold and turned away. "It _is _possible. I can only remember a bit of finding my way to you, of telling Ogol that he would not get any of you—I was already moving before I spoke. I knew what I was going to do. I knew as soon as I saw him that I would push him over the edge, but I also knew I lacked the strength to do it without falling myself. I also did not care."

Nostalion did not speak. Firyavaryar had not discussed that day with anyone, not like this. He had said he did not know how he survived, and that was true. He had been dying—he had _thought _he was—and that would affect anyone's memory. He knew he was weak—when he closed his eyes in the throne room, he had not expected to open them again and rise.

_Ogol snarled, yanking Firyavaryar from the throne, dumping him onto the floor. Varyar did not move, not able to, not daring to. He hurt, everywhere, and he knew that he should. It was nothing more than what he deserved. He accepted the pain._

"_Do not think that your friend will escape me, pet. I will have him and the others. You were excellent bait, as usual, and now I have many to add to my army, and if you are foolish enough to think death has given you any sort of freedom, you will be disappointed. I will deal with you after I take care of them."_

_The robes swept away, and Varyar forced his head up from the ground. Ogol would have said that even if the others were long gone, but if they had not gotten away—Legolas was wounded, and the only hope they had of finding him before Ogol did was Nostalion—No. Ogol would not have his _gwador. _Sérëdhiel needed Nostalion. Nothing Firyavaryar could do would atone for what he had done to Legolas, he knew that, but he had to stop Ogol from recapturing the prince._

_Varyar pushed himself up off the ground, stumbling forward. He was more dead than alive, but this time he swore that he would take the monster with him. They would both die here._

"Varyar."

He lifted his head, looking up at Nostalion. "I was only remembering. You do not have to worry."

"You are a fool if you think no one worries. It is not just the memories or the dreams that concern them. It is your willingness to die for them."

"Are you angry with me?" Firyavaryar almost snorted. What right did the assassin have to be angry? "Were you in my position then, you would have chosen to end your life if it meant ending his. It would have been the same decision. We are too alike for you to deny that, and you have _always _risked your life for your family when they did not even acknowledge your existence. We are not that—"

"You may have called me _gwador _first, but you know what family means to me." Nostalion's words were laced with a harsh edge, a warning. "It is not and will not be nothing if you die. We acknowledge the risks and are willing to sacrifice, but that does not mean that I _want _you dead. There are times when you anger me, but you are _family."_

"I condemned you when I called you _gwador," _Firyavaryar said. He lowered his head again. "I did not know what I was doing at the time, but I understand now."

"Understand this, then. It is time for you to return to the others."

_No, _Varyar thought, _it is time for me to leave them._

* * *

Legolas watched the assassin moving back through the trees, uncertain how to react. He had thought that Nostalion would bring Firyavaryar back with him when he returned, but he was alone. That seemed strange to him, but Legolas knew not to question Nostalion. He could ask Varyar if he felt it was necessary, but he was not certain that he did. If Nostalion thought he could leave Firyavaryar where he was, then Legolas would trust that. He figured that the tracker could find Varyar again, though he hoped that they would not need to, that Firyavaryar would return on his own.

If only Varyar were more like Estel. Though he and the king did not always agree, he felt that it was easier to be close to Estel, easier to know how to react, even easier to care. Firyavaryar made things difficult, but Estel was noble, and it was not hard to love the lord of the white tree.

Legolas shook his head. His other friend was busy, and he did not know that he could go to the king with only minor discontentment to speak of, to weigh him down with tales of sea longing and troubled elves. No, while he did not want to trouble him. If he had a better reason to rush off to Minas Tirith, he might have been tempted, but even last night's dream and Varyar's continued absence was not enough to drive him to Estel for aid, as much as he wanted to see his friend.

Still, he could not help thinking that Estel's mere presence would make these troubled times ease.

"I see that I am not the only one having an early morning," Faramir commented, and Legolas turned back to him with a faint smile. "A messenger came out from Minas Tirith as soon as the sun rose. I don't think Lord Aragorn would have liked it if he'd known about it, but they insisted on coming ahead to prepare us for his visit and ensure his safety."

"Estel would hate that," Legolas said, grimacing. He knew his friend did not like having extra guards to watch over him or any unnecessary fuss when he visited Ithilien. It was hard for this place to be a refuge when Estel had to keep an entourage with him.

"I know, but they were insistent. He isn't traveling alone, and I think that scares them more than usual," Faramir said. He shook his head. "He is the finest swordsman in all Middle Earth. It is hard to believe he needs protection."

Legolas laughed. "Oh, if you knew him when he was younger, you would not say that. Our fathers despaired of us, and we were known for returning with enough injuries to make the healers wish we had died—though in some cases, that would have been more merciful than my father's fury when he saw my state."

Faramir smiled. "That sounds like a story I would like to hear someday."

"Have I not annoyed you with all that I have told you so far? I would think that tales of our exploits would become boring by now," Legolas said with a smile. "I swear that was all I spoke of while we worked to found this colony. The other elves sang to shut out the sound of my voice."

"You exaggerate," Faramir said, though he was smiling as well. "I did not mind the tales. Éowyn enjoyed them as well, and I think, for all his grumbling, so did Gimli."

"Have you seen Gimli this morning?"

"No, I have not." Faramir frowned. "I know I heard him threaten to leave when your other friends arrived, but I thought that more of his usual grumpiness, not something that he truly intended to do. He must be here somewhere, and he would not leave if he knew Aragorn was coming."

"You said Aragorn was not coming alone."

"He isn't. Lady Arwen and their son will be with him, but even so, I do not believe that would chase Gimli from your side."

"No, it would not," Legolas agreed. "I suppose he will return from a hunt and tell me I am behind in the count again. I look forward to it."

Faramir glanced at him, and Legolas almost laughed. He knew that his friendship with Gimli was one few understood, same as his friendship with Varyar had been and still was. Even now there were people who did not understand how he was friends with Estel—or why.

"Come," Legolas told the steward. "Let us get ready for our friend's arrival."

* * *

"Sérëdhiel said to bring this to you."

Firyavaryar looked up with a frown. Exactly what did his sister think she was doing? She knew not to do this—she was not helping with her interference, only harming—and it was a terrible thing to do to a friend. "I am not hungry. Please go."

"She said I should make you eat it whether you were hungry or not," Eruaistaniel said, a faint color coming into her cheeks. He wondered if that was _all _his sister had told her when she sent her on this foolish errand. "I do not know how she could expect me to do that. No one makes you do anything that you do not wish to do."

He snorted, knowing that was far from true. Ogol had taken him and tortured him for years, same with Draugminaion, and Meligur had coerced him into going after Turvuin. Indeed, it did not take much to make him do what he did not want to—a threat against any of his family accomplished that. He had been weak to that too many times—Sérëdhiel would say there was a strength to that weakness, but she did not understand how easily he had been manipulated by it. He had not told her.

"I suppose, perhaps, you would do it if you pitied me," Eruaistaniel said, and he turned to her with a frown. He had done some things for Eruaistaniel out of pity, much more out of respect for what she was to his sister, and others because he gave her his protection. He knew, however, that it was not pity Sérëdhiel expected to motivate his actions this time. Eruaistaniel held out the fruit to him. "Please do not send me back to your sister with my task unfulfilled. She would be most cross, and I am so very afraid of her."

"You are not," he said, shaking his head at her clumsy attempt. He was tempted to laugh. She smiled back at him, and he almost winced. He knew what she was not saying, knew what all the small gestures meant, and he wished that he could pretend he did not. He did not enjoy lying—he was a better liar than Legolas, at least—but he would liked to have been able to ignore it. He caused her pain now, more so than he had before, because she knew that he knew. "You have never feared Sérëdhiel, and you would not start now."

"I suppose it would seem foolish to do so here, when we have a home. This land is so peaceful that even Alassë can forget that there are _edain _nearby, and you know how she hates them," Eruaistaniel said, looking down at the fruit. "Even I can almost forget them here."

"That is good. I am glad this has proved as a refuge for you. I know Legolas would be pleased."

"Legolas is a fine elf, but this food is for you, and I will not take it to him." Eruaistaniel sighed as she studied the food. "It would have been better if I had been able to cook. I could have made your favorite."

"My favorite." He shook his head. He did not care for food other than recognizing it as necessary. Of all of them, it was true that Eruaistaniel cooked the best, but he rarely ate, and she knew this.

She lifted up a piece of the fruit and slipped it between his lips. He almost choked on it, not realizing he had left his mouth open enough for that. She took another for herself, smiling timidly as she ate it. He finished the fruit, swallowing it down with a curse. He did not want to crush her spirit, not when she was bold enough to try that, but it was necessary now. He had to do it.

She stared at him. "Varyar, I am sorry. I did not mean to choke you. I do not even know why I thought I could do that—"

"It is not the fruit," he said, not certain he could continue when he looked at her face, at those wide eyes that had already seen too much pain. "I... You know that when I was still a child, Ogol put a claim upon me, that he marked me as his."

She frowned, her voice hesitant. "I—Yes, I have heard some of that, but I have never known the details. I do not know that it was ever my place to know, and you do not have to tell me now."

He would never speak to anyone of the details of that time, and she was not one he would tell even were he willing to talk about it. "I am not giving you details. I am trying to... clarify. It is necessary for you to know this, or I would not say anything."

She tensed, pulling back and scrambling to her feet. She almost tripped over her skirt in her haste. "I told you that I was sorry I made you eat the fruit. I will go now—"

"Eruaistaniel," he said, and she stopped. He rose, facing her, placing his hands on her arms as gently as he could so that she would not run, trying to ignore that they were not covered by gloves this time. "I need you to listen because this is something you _have_ to understand. When Ogol claimed me, he said I would never be free of him, that I would be the one who led—and even created—his army."

"You would not do that."

"No, I would not, not willingly, and I refused many times, ran and hid... Even with all I did to avoid it or deny it, Ogol never accepted my refusal," Firyavaryar told her. He shook his head. "He expected me to give him my family. I do not mean Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel alone. I have always known that if I had any children, they would be forfeit to him."

Eruaistaniel winced, lowering her head. "He was a monster. To take children..."

Varyar nodded, though she was not hearing what he was trying to tell her. He would have to be more direct, even if it hurt her. "I swore, back when I was an elfling and still his prisoner, that I would not have any children for him to take, that I would not do anything that would put those children at risk. I would not bond with anyone or act without that bond."

"That is... practical. It is even admirable," she said, and then her eyes widened further as she looked up at him. She stepped backward, trying to pull free. "You do not have to do this. I—I have heard enough. You did not have to say anything at all. I knew that such things were—I knew."

He grimaced. He should not have said anything at all. It was not as necessary as he had thought, and all it had done was draw up pain. It had not helped anyone or spared anyone. He let her go, and she turned to leave. She stumbled, and he went to her side.

"Please," she said, righting herself, and he almost flinched when he saw the tears. "I would rather not have your assistance or—I do not want to say it, but I have to—Ogol _is _dead. He cannot harm your family now. You are cured. If you sought to excuse—"

"This is not an excuse."

She swallowed. "You... believe Ogol lives?"

"I do not know that I can believe Ogol is dead. I am not," Varyar reminded her quietly. "I cannot explain why I am not. Why should he have perished when I did not?"

"I—If Ogol is alive, is anyone here safe from him? What of Thenidriel and Tirithon? You fear he will take them? Varyar, what will you do?"

"I have to find some way of proving whether or not he lives."

She winced. "You mean you are leaving. You will use yourself to bait him."

"Eruaistaniel—"

"I will not tell the others, if that is what you were about to say," she told him, speaking with the composure she had been trained to have. She was stiff and formal, and it made him want to shake her, even if he knew that would not help. He did not want to scare her, but he hated when she retreated into the formalities she was raised with. "I would not try to stop you, either."

He snorted, speaking without any thought at all. "As if you could."

She shook her head. "There are others you would stay for if they asked. I do not fool myself into thinking I would ever be one of them."

He blinked, going over what he had said and her words. He could have debated them, could have attempted some sort of apology, but he did not think an apology was wise, even if he could see how much damage he had already done.

"Excuse me. Please," she said, not waiting for him to respond before she as much as fled from him. He lowered his head. He had not wanted to do that, had not wanted to hurt her, but now he had another reason to leave.

* * *

"That was not one of your smarter ideas," Nostalion observed, and Sérëdhiel looked up at him, shifting Tirithon in her arms as she did. She needed more to understand his mood, but she could tell that something had changed from when they spoke in the night to now, and she would have tried to relax the tension from his body if she were not holding onto the _gwinig._

"You think I should have prevented you from finding Varyar somehow? What am I, an infinitely powerful sorceress? Even Galadriel could not prevent you from finding him," Sérëdhiel said, and Nostalion's eyes narrowed at her.

"That is a poor evasion," he said, shaking his head. "You know what I mean. You sent Eruaistaniel to him. _That _was a mistake."

Sérëdhiel sighed. "If he was quarreling with you, then why would he listen to me if I told him to eat? I could have stood there, resolute and stubborn, until he did eat something, but I would have wasted more than half the day on it. He has trouble saying no to her, though, so why should I not send her this time?"

"You know why," Nostalion said, lifting Tirithon out of her arms. "It only hurts her to be near him when she feels as she does."

"And am I to tell her to avoid him for all the rest of their long days? She cannot."

Nostalion grunted. He studied Tirithon for a long moment, as though he needed to memorize the way his son looked, and Sérëdhiel's stomach twisted. He was preparing to leave. She could tell. She did not like it, but she knew the signs.

"What did Varyar tell you?"

Nostalion looked at her over their son's head, and she could tell how little he wanted to tell her. She put a hand on his arm, and he pulled her against him.

"Tell me that is not possible. Tell me Ogol is dead. That monster will not take our child."

"He would never get close," Nostalion said. She tried to believe that, but she knew that every time they had thought they were safe before, it had not lasted. Now she had Tirithon to worry over, and she did not want to think about the possibility of another. "I will not let anything happen to our son. I told you this."

She forced herself to nod. "I know that, but Ogol is not an ordinary enemy. He is the monster that has pursued us since childhood, who has tormented my brother and taken us all before. He is a nightmare we have never managed to wake up from, and Varyar has told me enough to know that he would want our son, that he would consider it his right to have Tirithon and Thenidriel and—"

"Your brother is half-insane," Nostalion said, and she glared at him. "I am not saying that to dismiss his concerns or belittle him. Even he cannot know if it is only his paranoia that is causing this. He cannot prove that Ogol is dead, so he fears he must be alive. He has not slept, and that makes this paranoia worse."

Sérëdhiel pulled away from her husband, needing to pace out some of her own tension. "That does not make him wrong. I want him to be. I do not want Ogol to be alive. Still, Varyar could be right."

"It is possible."

"Possible," she agreed, stopping with a shudder. "There may be no way of proving that Ogol is dead even if he is and has been since that fall. We only know that Saruman was not Ogol. We do not know why Varyar survived or how. Without that, it is impossible to know if Ogol did."

"True."

Sérëdhiel let out a breath. "Then what are we to do? Use the sleeping herbs on him every night until he lets go of this fear? Let him succumb fully to the madness and conviction that this monster lives?"

"Or allow him to go looking for proof."

"There is none."

Tirithon started to cry, and Sérëdhiel winced as she crossed to take the child from Nostalion. She supposed someone was hungry, but she did not want to feed him yet. She needed to finish this conversation without the vulnerability that came with feeding a _gwinig._

"There are other questions he might resolve instead," Nostalion told her, and she frowned. "The _echil _and Legolas both spoke of an _elleth _that survived a torture Varyar believes killed her. Supposedly he bargained with Ogol to free her, but he says he could not have. If she could tell him what that bargain was or he could see for himself that she did live, that could be some relief for him."

"Would it be?" Sérëdhiel asked, causing Nostalion to frown this time. "If that _elleth _did not survive, it would bring him only grief. And if she did survive, perhaps he was not the one that bargained with Ogol. Perhaps she did."

"You think she fooled Galadriel and all Lórien and is working for Ogol? Why?"

"I do not know. I do not like the idea of him going anywhere. He may have been cured of the poison, and that saved his life, but we are none of us fools—we can all see how lost he is now. His survival still remains a curse, and he no longer carries a weapon."

"That can change."

* * *

"I think I'm looking at one spoiled little princeling," Gimli said when he found Legolas sitting on a tree root. He didn't know what appealed to the elf about this place, but he seemed happy here. He _wanted _to be here. Gimli didn't understand it, but then Legolas did not understand his love for the glittering caves, either. "Overslept, did you?"

"On the contrary," Legolas answered, rubbing his neck. "I did not sleep much at all, and I have only just stopped this moment to pause before seeing to more details for an upcoming visit."

"Bah. I know you. You're just lazy." Gimli said, sitting down next to him. "I've already got two for my count, and even if we had a whole king's company coming, we could feed them."

Legolas smiled. "I suppose we should send you out every morning to ensure we have enough food even though there are plenty of elven hunters here to see to that task. In fact, if you would like to take that duty sometime, Nostalion, you can."

Gimli frowned. He had not heard anyone else approaching, but the assassin stood behind them, glowering like usual.

"So you imagine yourself a hunter," the dark elf said, and Gimli almost rose, tempted to grab his axe. That one might have been a friend of his friend, but that did not mean that he trusted either one of them. Legolas was about the only one trusted Firyavaryar, and it was Varyar who trusted Nostalion. That one was a threat, and Gimli knew it.

He watched the elf warily. "What makes you say that?"

"You count your kills," Nostalion said. "You think this makes you some kind of hunter? One that can claim his kills with pride?"

"It's no shame to be proud of one's skill as a warrior. We dwarves are not ashamed to wield our blades. Nothing wrong with that." Gimli would not be bullied into shame, not by this or any elf. He had been fighting all his life. It was what dwarves did. "Unless you're ashamed of what you do?"

Nostalion's expression darkened, but it was a different elf who spoke.

Legolas shook his head. "It is not about shame. There is a difference between pride and acknowledgment of our own capabilities. Nostalion knows what he is capable of, but he does not feel a need to boast of it."

"Indeed. Nostalion's kills are quick, clean, and efficient. They are so quiet even they do not speak for themselves. Some of them would go without any notice at all, and that, dwarf, is where pride would lie—if Nostalion chose to take pride in them," Firyavaryar said, and Legolas smiled when he looked up to find his friend in the tree.

"I thought you were not fond of trees."

"And I thought you were more sensitive to nature," Firyavaryar said. He tapped the branch. "This is not a tree. This is our resident _onod. _He has fallen asleep again, but he should be recognizable as himself despite that."

Gimli grunted. As far as he could tell, the ent was more of a tree than an ent, and it was impossible to tell the difference. "Are you both here to insult us?"

"I believe you said the first insult, and no," Nostalion answered. He looked up at the elf in the tree. Firyavaryar did not speak, neither of them did for a moment, but he did nod. He slid down out of the tree, landing on the ground. "You may continue your conversation about hunters without us."

Gimli frowned. "You have a problem with hunters?"

"No, he has a problem with self-important dwarves who think overmuch of their prowess in battle," Firyavaryar said, and Legolas frowned at him.

"Self-important? Think overmuch of my prowess?" Gimli demanded. He had been patient enough with these elves, but he thought it was time they all moved on from Ithilien. He stepped in front of Nostalion, blocking the assassin's path. "You think so little of my skill? What about yours? I challenge you to prove it."

"You wish to display your skill?"

Gimli nodded. "Why not? It's been too long since I had a good fight."

"Very well," Nostalion agreed, withdrawing the set of knives that matched the set Legolas wore.

Firyavaryar shook his head at the same time as Legolas. "That is far from fair, _gwador. _The dwarf would not survive against you even were he the most talented of all dwarves. You cannot fight him."

"Not me." The assassin said. He held the knife out to Firyavaryar. "You."

"Me? I have not used a blade in centuries."

"Exactly," Nostalion said with a smile. "That makes it almost a fair fight."


	4. Dealing in Distractions

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Four  
Word Count:** 7,520**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** So... I think I said before that I'm not good at action scenes and that I hate them and... well, these ones ended up being mostly talking, and I admit I'm not disappointed with them in that respect because I love dialogue and can write it. I can't write action. I did try, but I came far short of what I hoped for with their sparring, and I don't know how to fix it.

This was kind of necessary, though. More or less. It's been a lot harder to get things in motion than I thought it would be.

* * *

**Dealing in Distractions  
**

It was, Legolas supposed, inevitable that tensions and tempers would flare and erupt into violence, even in Ithilien. He had known that his friends kept the peace for his sake, not out of any kind of friendship or affection for each other. They might have been friends with him, but they were not friends with each other. He did not know that they would _ever _become that. They were very different people, and it was not race alone that separated them.

He did wish that it was not so easy to provoke the dwarf. Such a comment should not have turned into a battle. That was just the sort of thing that Firyavaryar would say, the way he teased everyone, even those he called friends. How many times had Legolas called him _yrch _because of a comment like that? It was one of their oldest games, and he still enjoyed it.

Gimli did not, obviously.

Legolas watched as the assassin took out one of the knives Ehtyarion had given him. He started to move forward to stop it. He valued Gimli's skills and his help in battle, but he did not think it was right to let him fight someone with Nostalion's training. The assassin had learned to do one thing—kill—and he did it well. Legolas did not want Gimli harmed. This had to be stopped.

Except Nostalion held the blade out to Firyavaryar. "You."

"Me?" Varyar asked, snorting as he did. "I have not used a blade in centuries."

"Exactly," Nostalion said, smiling. "That makes it almost a fair fight. The dwarf will still lose, but it will not be so pathetic a loss."

"Why you—" Gimli sputtered in anger, raising his axe to have it met by the blade Varyar had taken from Nostalion. Though the axe did not splinter as Mithrandir's staff had done, Legolas could not help remembering that moment when Firyavaryar had betrayed a greater skill with the sword than he had shown before.

It had been years since Legolas had seen Varyar fight, even more than the same centuries that he had claimed had passed since he held a blade. He could not help being a bit excited, even if he knew he should stop this fight. A part of him wanted to see it, always having been curious about his friend's skills. He knew that even when Varyar played at being clumsy, he had been a good match for Legolas in training.

"Do you think, little dwarf, that my only skill was with poison?" Varyar asked, pushing back with the knife. "It is true that I have not used one of these in years, but they are rather simple tools."

"Estel would disagree with you. He is a fine swordsman."

"I do not care about your _echil, _Legolas," Firyavaryar said, sidestepping the dwarf. He let the blade pass along the edge of the axe until it was free. "It was the dwarf who issued the challenge, and it is the dwarf who must answer it."

"And it is the elf who talks too much instead of fighting."

Varyar laughed. "Do you realize, small one, that you could have been dead several times over during so short a conversation? Were this the sort of battle that Nostalion and I usually fight, he would have dispatched you while I held you in thrall. There is more to killing than a sharp-edged blade."

"You cannot act as a distraction if you are alone," Legolas reminded him. He glanced toward Nostalion. He supposed the assassin rarely left his _gwador's _side.

"I am not alone. I have an audience."

"Not giving them much of a show, are you, laddie?" Gimli asked, and Varyar gave him a rather dangerous smile.

"Flourishes are the prince's specialty, not mine." Firyavaryar circled the dwarf. "Besides, you are small and tiny and not worth a flourish. I could knock you over with my glove—and I am not wearing any this time."

Gimli snarled, and metal clanged against metal as he swung his axe. Varyar countered with the knife, and Legolas could not see any sign that it had been years since he used a blade. His movements seemed effortless, almost _bored _with his dance with the dwarf.

"I think you need a real opponent."

"What?" Gimli sputtered. "I'll have you know I'm more than a match for this pointy-eared devil."

Varyar snorted. "I have yet to see you swing that axe with any sort of skill. Perhaps we need a weapon more suited to your size."

The dwarf muttered to himself things Legolas was glad his elven hearing could not catch over the renewed sounds of battle. He grimaced. "Gimli, do not let him do this. He is baiting you. It is what he does. He makes you angry, keeps you that way to make you sloppy and unfocused. It is giving him an unfair advantage."

"Like you did not call me a _yrch _when we fought as elflings."

"I did, but that is because you were tricky and deceitful when we fought. You would make me angry to unbalance me, and I let you more often than I should have," Legolas admitted. "Our games were never played on equal ground."

"Of course not. You are a prince, and royalty always wins," Varyar said. He shook his head. "You are trying to give the dwarf the unfair advantage, talking to me as you do, but I must admit—it will not work. Misdirection is a favorite method of mine, and I am rarely fooled by it after all my time with Ogol."

"You are toying with him, Varyar. It is not right."

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me," Gimli said, though Legolas could see that he heeded some of Legolas' words, slowing down and measuring his opponent, looking for weaknesses and opportunities instead of blindly attacking. Varyar did not permit many, but what advantage Gimli could find, he used, balancing out the fight into something more equitable, as it should have been all along. Gimli was not a poor fighter. He could handle his axe with great skill. It was only Firyavaryar's talent for upsetting his opponents that had caused the imbalance between them. Now that it was more even, Legolas could see some strain and fatigue in his old friend.

"I think we have settled this challenge," Legolas began. "Gimli has skill, that is undeniable, and you can stop goading him about it because I know you were only teasing before. Let this end."

"I wonder—is it the dwarf you worry for? Surely it is not me. I am only a bit fatigued," Varyar said, though Gimli's axe came far too close to his tunic for Legolas' liking. "Either of us should be insulted by your actions. Do you think us so incapable of seeing the match to its finish?"

"I think," Legolas paused for emphasis, "that you are not acting as though this were a real challenge at all. You have taunted and pretended to fight, but it is all you ever do. You have not given Gimli a true opportunity to prove anything, nor have you shown what you are truly capable of."

Varyar stopped. "Were this a true challenge, the dwarf would be dead."

"That is not true. You fought me before without killing me."

Firyavaryar glanced at Nostalion. "I think I understand now. The dwarf issued the challenge, but it is the elf that wants to fight."

"You have said you are not forgiven. Perhaps it is time to settle this in another way," the assassin said, holding out the other knife.

Varyar looked at it and back at Legolas before nodding and accepting the second blade. "Very well, _gwador. _Your challenge is accepted."

* * *

"This was a lot of fuss for one visit to Ithilien," Aragorn said, and Arwen smiled over at him, amused by his grumbling. He supposed he'd done plenty of it on the way over. He did not need this many guards, even with his family beside him, and he did not want all these servants. He missed the days when he had no more than a bedroll and a sword beside him, the days when he knew the freedom that came with being a ranger.

He had responsibilities then, had people that depended upon him, but it was not the same as what he had now. He was a king, and it was part of his duty to be _seen. _He had to be in his kingdom, had to be there where he could see his people and they could see him. They could not know how their city became a prison, and they did not know he felt that way. He would deny it even to himself if he could have, since he had no desire to feel that way about Minas Tirith or being a king.

"Perhaps the fuss was necessary," Arwen said, pulling him from his thoughts, and he frowned, but a moment later, he caught the same sound her fine ears had already recognized—the clash of blade against blade, the tang of metal as it struggled through battle. Someone was fighting.

"I do not understand," he said. "If Ithilien was under attack, we would know. Stay here."

"Aragorn—"

"You protect her and the boy," Aragorn ordered the guards, moving away from them and toward the fight. He knew they would not care for that command, but he did not care. He did not need their protection. Even Arwen did not, but the boy was still vulnerable, still a child, and he wanted his guards to care for what mattered to him most—his family. If his friends here in Ithilien needed him, he would fight with them, but he wanted Arwen and Eldarion safe first.

He entered deeper into the forest of Ithilien, tracking the sound of the fight to its source deep in the trees. A crowd had already gathered around, blocking much from view, but he could hear voices now that he was closer.

"I thought you left the flourishes to me," Legolas called out, and Aragorn pushed past a few elves to where he could see, coming to a stop beside Gimli.

"Is that what you call that? I thought you slipped," Firyavaryar called back, grinning as he dodged a blade. "Come now, prince. The dwarf gave me a better fight—and he was boring."

"_Yrch," _Legolas muttered, and Firyavaryar laughed. Aragorn heard Gimli muttering to himself, but his attention was on the two elves. He had seen Legolas fight many times before—he had fought with him and beside him, and he knew his friend's moves well. He could predict where Legolas would step, when he would turn, which blade would strike and which would block.

The surprise came from Firyavaryar. Aragorn had seen the Avari fight before, but he had done so using no more than the poison he carried within him and perhaps a bit of natural elven agility. To see him armed with a set of knives that matched Legolas' favored weapons and wielding them with nearly the same ease as the wood elf, that was not something he would have expected.

"You warned the dwarf not to fall for my tricks, yet now you are."

"Tricks are all you have. It is only fair to let you use some of them."

Firyavaryar snorted, countering Legolas' strike with a flurry that had the prince backing into a tree by mistake. Legolas ducked the next blow, murmuring an apology to the tree when the other elf struck it, and glaring at his friend.

"That was unnecessary," Legolas said. "We do not have to do this."

"Your ability to resist being baited into anger while you fight has much improved over the centuries. Beridhren and Ehtyarion would be quite proud of you," Firyavaryar told Legolas, circling around him and the tree. "Yet you settle nothing when you ignore that anger. Come now. Admit that I angered you. That you want to hate me. That I have done nothing but disappoint you since the day I left Greenwood."

"That is not true. You are and always have been my _gwador," _Legolas insisted. He shook his head. "Why bother allowing the anger to motivate me when you are still holding back? You have not attempted to fight me as I know you can. Do you think that getting me to hurt you will somehow change things? I assure you—it will not."

"You do not want me to fight you."

"Truthfully, no, I do not," Legolas agreed. "I have no desire to harm you, and I know you have not rested since your arrival here. You are not speaking of the same thing."

Aragorn thought he would have liked to see Legolas do _something _to Firyavaryar, even if he had found a way to let go of his frustration and anger regarding Legolas' decision to forgive the Avari. He still had a few lingering resentments, most of which were not helped by the way that Varyar always insulted him when they interacted.

"No, I am not," Firyavaryar said. He glanced toward Nostalion. "You would not fight him because you know his training was intended for death alone. You respect it and do not ask for him to temper that training for a meaningless exercise."

Aragorn frowned. Did Firyavaryar consider his own training the same? How was that possible? No one had trained him as an assassin—he lacked the technique of Nostalion and was not as polished a fighter as Legolas.

"That is how you would fight," Legolas said. "You think it is only to cause death and has no other purpose."

"Will you tell me it does?" Firyavaryar shook his head. "There is defense, yes, and that is noble, but to train as we do was never meant for mere _defense. _You were raised in a land at war, Legolas, and you bear that burden even now. Your _echil _does as well."

Aragorn did not know if the elf was aware of his presence, but he did not think anyone was going to interrupt the two of them, not now.

"You were raised for war." Legolas' voice was quiet, so low that Aragorn almost missed it. "That is what Ogol wanted you for."

Firyavaryar nodded, though Aragorn still did not see why the Avari was so valuable to Ogol. He did not seem to have any particular skill. He was not the warrior that his assassin friend was, nor was he equal to Legolas. As commander of an army, Firyavaryar would have been unimpressive.

"Yet it was the path you always turned from."

"No, not always," Firyavaryar disagreed. He lifted the knife in his right hand, turning it around for a moment before leveling it at Legolas. "When he sent the orcs against me, I fought. I fought because I had to if I was going to survive to return to my family. I fought because I did not care how many of them I killed. They were nameless, faceless, and even if I slaughtered every one of them that came after me, I could never be certain that I had killed all those who had a part in what he did to my mother."

"Nor could I," Legolas agreed. "That has always bound us together, that understanding."

"It does _not," _Firyavaryar spat, going on the attack. He struck out in anger, the kind he had tried to provoke Legolas into not long ago, but where someone else might have become clumsy and sloppy while under a berserker's rage, Firyavaryar used it to add to his blows, coming closer to hurting Legolas and forcing him to struggle to maintain his balance as he backed over tree roots trying to avoid his friend's fury. "You say that as if it could undo all that I have done in the centuries that have passed, that it could change what I am and what you are and it does not. You always gave it more credence than it should have been given."

"No one else understood what it was like, as much as they tried," Legolas disagreed, and Aragorn thought he heard some anger from him now. "No one else knows what it is like to watch a mother die and think it is your fault and to see the horrors that orcs inflict on the bodies of their victims and fear what is coming to you and—"

"And Ogol as much as told me once that he arranged for your mother to die as mine had so that we could bond and I could lead you to him."

Legolas stopped. "What?"

Firyavaryar shook his head. "He lied about everything, and I do not know that it was true, but I know that little was impossible with him. He could have done it—he had the orcs to send after your mother—but I have never known if he was telling me the truth or wanting me to blame myself more for what had happened in Greenwood."

"You lied," Legolas said. "All this time, every time you denied your role in saving my life and Beridhren's—that orc was not so wounded that it was easily overcome. You had the skill to do it back then, but you hid it. You were that talented even then."

"Did you think that Ogol wanted me to lead his army only because of the way I look?"

Legolas snorted. "You are not that pretty."

"Ogol thought I was. He bred me to his specifications, and he was not displeased by the way I looked. I was not just supposed to lead the army. I was supposed to create it."

"It would have been an ugly one."

"_Yrch."_

Legolas laughed. He put his knives away before stepping forward to embrace the other elf. "Torment yourself no longer, _gwador. _Even if Ogol arranged for my mother's death, it was not your doing or anything you could have stopped. We were both children then."

"Oh, get off of me. You are still a fool," Firyavaryar said, shoving him away. "A loyal one, yes, but nevertheless a fool."

Aragorn grunted. He was almost tempted to agree with that after what he'd just seen, since Legolas seemed willing to forgive Firyavaryar almost anything, but he was right—if Ogol _had _done that to Legolas' mother, Firyavaryar could not have stopped it. He was only a child then himself.

"Estel!" Legolas cried happily, having noticed him at last. He rushed over to Aragorn's side, smiling, though he winced as he saw the crowd that had gathered. "I was not aware that we had so large or so grand an audience. I knew you were coming, but I had not realized you were already here."

"You were busy," Aragorn told him. He smiled slightly. "Had I known that you had arranged for entertainment, I would have come sooner."

Firyavaryar bowed. "I am glad we pleased you with our wonderful farce, your majesty. I rather fear I was destined to become the court jester in Thranduil's land, and you can see why I was forced to leave before that happened."

"Varyar," Legolas said, frowning even as he struggled not to laugh. "You—"

"I must add that I have no desire to fill the role for the kingdom of Gondor, so if you will excuse me, I have an _onod _to wake."

Legolas shook his head as he watched Firyavaryar go. "All of this has, I fear, settled nothing at all, though I did not know that I expected it to."

"Bah. All it did was allow that devil to show off," Gimli grumbled.

Legolas reached over to ruffle the dwarf's hair. "You are only annoyed because Nostalion would not fight you."

"Nostalion?" Aragorn asked, frowning. The assassin and the dwarf? What had happened in Ithilien while he was gone?

Legolas smiled. "It is a bit of a story. Come, let us find Arwen, Faramir, and Éowyn so that I do not have to tell it more than once."

* * *

"I know that we discussed getting Varyar accustomed to carrying a weapon again, but I do not like the way you did it," Sérëdhiel told her husband, shifting Tirithon in her arms. She had been unable to watch her brother fight for long—and equally unable to turn away from it unless he was harmed. The whole thing made her very angry with both of them, and she did not want to be angry.

"He would not have taken the blades willingly, but they were always meant to be his," Nostalion reminded her, and she grimaced. She thought he wanted to be rid of them because Ehtyarion had given them to him and he still refused to acknowledge the other elf as his uncle. "Now he has used them. They are his."

"And trying to get Legolas to attack him? Will you claim that was wise?"

Nostalion grunted. "If he harbored no resentment, then your brother was not at risk. If he did, then it was best that it was fought out and dealt with. Your brother cannot atone for something if his friend refuses to acknowledge that it exists."

Sérëdhiel sighed. That was true, but she did not like it. "I do not care for your methods, even if I might see some logic in them."

"I did not do it seeking your approval," Nostalion said, wrapping his arm around her waist. "I suppose you are expected to act as hostess now."

"You think it is my role to welcome the king and his family to Ithilien? Why would that duty fall to me when there are many other elves here?"

"You are the one that the prince calls _gwathel. _That makes the role yours."

She looked up at him. "I am annoyed by your logic. Go and find my brother. If you are so convinced that he will keep the knives, he needs their sheaths. Otherwise he will bury them in the dirt or something equally absurd."

Nostalion touched her face. "Your moods shift quickly these days."

"If you are suggesting that Alassë is once again correct and that I carry another child, you might want to consider _running _to find my brother," Sérëdhiel told him. She would rather wait until Tirithon was older to have a second child, and she did not want one now, not if Varyar was right and Ogol lived. She would not accept that she was pregnant again until its signs were undeniable, and right now, they were not. She had one child, and she would protect him with all she had.

Nostalion kissed her forehead, and she tried to calm herself as he walked away. She did not want to act as hostess. She could not keep herself from anger and fear when her family was threatened.

"Would you like me to take him for a while?" Eruaistaniel offered, and Sérëdhiel turned to her with a frown. "If you are to welcome the others, it would be easier if you did not have Tirithon to carry."

"It would, but it is difficult to let him out of my arms now."

"You fear it, too," Eruaistaniel whispered. "You believe Ogol lives and will come for the children."

Sérëdhiel tightened her hold on her son. "I do not want to believe it, but I would rather be alert and protect him than deny it and pay for ignorance with my son's life."

Eruaistaniel nodded. "None of us want anything to happen to the children."

"Yet something has happened to you, Eruaistaniel," Sérëdhiel said, aware of her friend's distress. "What is it?"

"There is a certain sense of cruelty to your brother's kindness," Eruaistaniel said. "No, it is best not discussed, and please do not ask me to speak of it. This foolishness hurts almost to where it feels like real pain."

"It is no less real because it is not a physical injury," Sérëdhiel said. "I did not mean for you to come to harm when I sent you with food for him. I am sorry."

"This is not your doing, nor is it even his." Eruaistaniel put a hand to her head, sighing. "Will you—I do not wish to be in anyone's company for a while. You will make my excuses to them? I think it is no lie to claim I am unwell."

"Eruaistaniel—"

"Excuse me. I thought I could help with Tirithon, but I see I cannot. I will lie down for a while until this passes."

Sérëdhiel nodded, letting her friend go. She did not know how to help her even if Eruaistaniel had been willing to stay. Few things healed such a pain—time and love were all Sérëdhiel knew of—but if Ogol lived, then none of them had time. He would come, and he would destroy them all.

* * *

"Was it true?"

"What part?" Firyavaryar asked, not looking back at Nostalion. He leaned against the tree, more exhausted than he had dared admit during the fight with the dwarf or Legolas. He did not know how he had stayed on his feet for as long as he had. He should never have done that, but the dwarf annoyed him and he owed Legolas.

"The part about Ogol claiming to have killed his mother to allow you two to bond."

"As I told him, I do not know how true it was," Varyar said, grimacing. He should never have mentioned it to Legolas. He had not intended to. His weakness during the fight had allowed it, but it was a secret not meant to be told, not ever. "If you are asking if he did actually say it, then yes. He did. That is true. He _did _make that claim. He said many things to try and break my mind, and some of them worked. Some of them did not."

Nostalion grunted. "Taking away the one friend you had would be an effective tactic. Making that friendship a lie and a part of his plan all along would have done much to destroy you."

Varyar nodded. "Yes, that is why the claim was made."

"And how much damage did it do?"

Varyar considered that. "How insane would you say I was when we first met?"

Nostalion studied him. "I had never seen a lunatic half as functional as you. Most others were incapable of acting at all rational. You were different. You had lucid moments."

"As I do now," Firyavaryar agreed. "I suppose that owes in part to my inability prove or disprove the accuracy of anything Ogol said. This claim about Legolas' mother... Even if one said it could not be true because Legolas' mother died before mine, that is a fallacy. He could have killed her and then ensured that my mother shared the same fate. Also, I am not certain how great the time difference was between our mothers' deaths. I do not know who died first. I cannot say how much time passed between when my mother died and when I was able to go free. I was badly traumatized, and it felt like years, but it could not have been because my siblings would have faded before I returned to them if it had been."

The assassin nodded. "Torture is good at distorting time, yet you did not meet Legolas until after your mother was dead and you were free. When did Ogol claim this freedom and friendship was arranged?"

"I believe I was about a century old when he managed to find me again. That time he held me for much longer and did the worst of his damage. Or was that two separate times?" Firyavaryar rubbed at his head and looked at his _gwador. _"My memories are confused. Sérëdhiel would know if I was gone more than the once. You should ask her. I can no longer say or trust what I know."

"The claim about Legolas was made the same time as this _elleth _was supposedly Ogol's prisoner?"

Gagging at the image that came with the mention of the _elleth, _Varyar turned away. "He had one that he tortured. She might not have been the one in Lórien, but she _was _there. I saw her blood; I felt it splatter my face. She existed. She should be dead, but even if she is not, that is something I am certain of—she _was _there."

"You would know her if you saw her again."

"Yes." Firyavaryar watched him. Was Nostalion thinking that he should go after that _elleth _in Lórien? Did he know that Varyar had been considering it?

The assassin removed the straps that held the sheaths against his back. He slid them off and held them out to Firyavaryar. "These belong to the ones you carry."

"Did my sister tell you to make sure I put them away? I suppose she thought I would bury them."

"She did suggest it, yes."

Varyar smiled. He had forgotten how well Sérëdhiel knew him. "I do not plan on destroying any more weapons. The ones that the poison took are the end of it."

"Are they?"

"As deluded as it might be, I cannot help feeling that if I did anything to those blades, Thranduil would know and come after me," Firyavaryar said, picking up a knife and placing it in the sheath. "You need not watch over me. I am fatigued after that display, and I think I will sleep here under the watchful snores of my personal _onod _tree."

Nostalion snorted. "You are not asleep, and I have no interest in fraternizing with the _edain."_

Varyar leaned back against Lothanlass. "You fought with Sérëdhiel, did you? You would not be so eager to stay and leave her in the hands of the men. Even the presence of Arwen Undómiel would not be enough to comfort you."

"And it is enough to comfort you?"

"I did not suffer as much at the hands of _edain _as you, Eruaistaniel, Turvuin, and Alassë did," Firyavaryar reminded him. "And I do not need to trust them—I trust Legolas. That is all I need. I am certain you will know when I wake up from my next nightmare whether you watch over me or not, so you do not need to stay. You can, if you want—at least I do not snore like Idhrenion—but I do not recommend it as there are better uses for your time."

Nostalion grunted. "No, there are not, but then I have no intention of watching you sleep."

Varyar smiled, settling against the _onod. _He did not know how long Nostalion would remain, and he did not care. His _gwador _did not need to stay, but Firyavaryar was too tired to move. He would rest here for as long as the dreams would let him.

* * *

"Sit, sit, my lord. We will bring you everything you need."

Aragorn grimaced at the servant's words, not needing anything at all right now. He had taken Legolas back to explain to the guards that it was only a practice session and not anything to worry over, but he did not think that they believed that. He could see them in the distance, warily watching over the whole company, and he hated it.

Arwen touched his arm, and he smiled at her, though he knew she understood his discomfort. He had told her before how little he cared for being watched over and having servants stumble about to give him anything he thought of, whether he truly wanted it or not.

"We could always see to it that they become lost in the forest," Legolas offered, and Aragorn laughed. "No, truly, Estel. It would be easily done. The trees move here, and even some elves can be fooled by it."

"The trees move?"

"One 'tree' in particular, though he is not entirely teasing," Sérëdhiel said, carrying her son into their circle. "My brother woke an _onod _that follows him almost everywhere. He has taken to sleeping next to it, but he never sleeps in the same spot, so the trees _have _moved around here."

"Even a certain pointy-eared prince fell for it earlier."

Legolas flushed a bit at Gimli's words. "I was distracted. I did not realize I had had sat next to Lothanlass. He is easy to confuse with a regular tree when he sleeps."

Aragorn smiled. Already he felt more at ease than he had in the past weeks at Minas Tirith. He had needed his friends—Arwen was right about that. "How does Firyavaryar tell the difference? He did claim not to have much connection to nature."

"It is not difficult when the tree is following him," Alassë said, shaking her head. "Now if Varyar missed that, it would be pathetic, but that thing actually likes his singing. I do not understand that because Idhrenion snores with more rhythm—"

"Alassë," Sérëdhiel began in warning, and Alassë looked at her, undisturbed.

"What? It is no secret that Varyar cannot sing or that Idhrenion snores." Alassë said. "It is not as though the _edain _are children for me me to corrupt with false stories."

"You corrupt the children _without _assistance," Idhrenion told her, shaking his head. "Ask her what Thenidriel said to me this morning. Go ahead and ask. Not only are the insults worse than usual, but she is getting our daughter to say them, too."

"Insults?"

Alassë grimaced. "Children repeat what they hear, and do not act as though I am the only one who causes her to say things she should not say. Just because you say things out of books that most people do not comprehend does not make them any better than what I said."

"Most mothers do not say that they would gladly remove parts of the father's anatomy in front of the children," Idhrenion hissed at her, and Alassë glared back at him.

"You will have to excuse them," Sérëdhiel said, clearly uncomfortable. "They have been arguing more than usual since Alassë realized she was carrying a second child."

"Not all of us are able to maintain a sense of calm and perfection during our pregnancies."

Sérëdhiel shook her head. "I was never perfect while I carried Tirithon, and I do not think that anyone cares to hear us continue this argument. We should discuss other things."

"I have heard much of your talent for diplomacy, Sérëdhiel, and I see that, at least, is true of what my brothers have told me. I am glad to meet you at last," Arwen said, shifting Eladrion in her arms as she greeted the _elleth _with a smile. "Elladan and Elrohir have such fascinating stories about you. I have enjoyed hearing them, and I hope you will forgive me for that, since I do not know how much of them I should have believed."

"Knowing your brothers, none of them," Sérëdhiel said, and Arwen laughed. Aragorn watched her, smiling himself. He should not be so pleased to see her charmed by Firyavaryar's sister. That made her dangerous, but Arwen did not have many friends in Minas Tirith. She was respected and loved by the people of Gondor, but she was also apart from them. She would likely enjoy the company of another _elleth._ Even her friendship with Éowyn was not the same as one with another elf-maiden would be.

"We can tell you equally misleading tales of the exploits of Elladan and Elrohir," Aragorn said, knowing his wife would enjoy telling stories of her brothers. Legolas elbowed him, and Aragorn looked at him with a frown.

"That is perhaps unwise. They are twins, and when Alassë first saw them, she was very upset," Legolas reminded him in a low voice. Looking over at her, Aragorn could see the tension in her, but he had not thought she had such trouble with his brothers after that first meeting. "I imagine reminders of that during Alassë's current pregnancy would not be welcome."

Aragorn nodded. He could see that now, watching Idhrenion whisper in his wife's ear and soothe her with circles turned over her stomach. Even if it was not the twins that had upset her, a distraction was more than necessary before the obviously volatile Alassë heard the subject of their conversation.

The distraction came in the form of an elven assassin. He came over to his wife, taking their child from her. "He is resting next to the _onod. _He put the knives away."

Sérëdhiel smiled back at him, pulling him close for a kiss. "Thank you for checking on him."

Nostalion sat down next to her, giving her forehead a second kiss as she leaned against him. Aragorn tried not to think about how strange it was to see him being gentle with her and the baby, especially when he started combing his fingers through her long hair. "Where is Eruaistaniel?"

"She is lying down. She does not feel well."

"Is it something I can help with?" Aragorn asked. He knew he'd hesitated in offering help before and that had caused resentment and anger among their group, even though he had only been trying to be practical about how to treat Firyavaryar.

"No, it is—she is troubled by the old wounds in her spirit again," Sérëdhiel answered. "Thank you, but you cannot heal that. I fear nothing can."

"Varyar could."

"Alassë," Sérëdhiel said, and the other _elleth _just shook her head. Aragorn did not know that anyone needed _that _conversation to continue, either.

"You did not say what brought you here, Estel," Legolas began, distracting everyone at once. "We are glad to have you, of course, but it is sudden."

"Aragorn has been restless," Arwen answered. "I thought he should come here either for respite or the answer to what is bothering him."

Aragorn looked at her. She smiled serenely, and he found it hard to be angry with her though he did not want her to tell everyone his secrets.

"Aye, laddie," Gimli said. "There's nothing like the company of friends to cheer you up, and I've already seen to the hunt so we'll have a feast tonight. You'll forget all about anything bothering you by then—or you would if any of these elves knew how to make a decent ale."

"Oh, no, Gimli," Idhrenion said, sounding much like his brother. "It is not that elves do not know how to make a decent ale. It is that you dwarves do not recognize it when you taste it because you have spent all your lives poisoned by the kind you _think _is good."

"Why you—" Gimli began and then he stopped, shaking his head. "You're just baiting me, like your brother would."

Idhrenion smiled. Legolas shook his head. "I fear I have been setting a poor example for the ones who come here. They do not understand that you are far more than entertainment to us, Gimli."

"Why you—" Gimli said, but this time he saw the prince's smile and started laughing, leading others to join in with him.

* * *

"_She is rather beautiful when she screams, isn't she?" Ogol asked, and Firyavaryar pulled against the band on his neck, struggling to breathe with that thing holding him in place. He knew he had brought this upon himself, trying to get to the _elleth _across the room. If he had not tried to reach her, he would still have a length of the chain to move about on, but he had tried to help. Now he could not breathe._

_Ogol breathed too much, hissing into his ear. "I had not thought much of her when you brought her here, but she has improved. Do you not agree?"_

"_Are you suggesting that your butchery is somehow—"_

"_Butchery?" Ogol asked, yanking Varyar up by the chain. "You are the one who tried to defy me, remember? You brought this creature here—"_

"_I did not bring her to you. I did not even know her. Your orcs grabbed her, but she is nothing to me. She is some stranger that you are hurting only because you are a monster—"_

_Ogol struck him, and Firyavaryar knew his own blood had mixed with the _elleth's _still staining his cheek. "You lie. You have always lied, pet, but you have made a grave mistake this time. She is not for you. I told you when it was time for it, I will select your mate. I chose your father's, and he was pleased by my choice."_

"_You said my father was weak."_

"_So he was. Your mother had the spirit, and she was the right choice," Ogol said. He cupped Varyar's chin in his hand. "You are a fool. This choice you made for yourself is a pitiful one."_

"_I do not know her! I did not choose her! I would not choose anyone knowing what you would do to them. Let her go. You do not want her, so let her go."_

"_No." Ogol shook his head. "She must pay for your defiance, and I do like hearing her scream."_

_Firyavaryar looked over at the _elleth. _Huddled against the wall, she seemed smaller than Sérëdhiel was as an elfling, and if that had been his sister—he shook his head. "Please. Let her go. You do not need her. You have me."_

_Ogol smiled, patting his cheek."Oh, pet. You are so weak in spite of what I have done for you. You should be stronger than this by now. What is her suffering to you? If she is nothing to you, then why would you beg me for her sake?"_

"_Because I am not a monster like you."_

"_You will be," Ogol promised him, and Varyar shuddered, flinching away from the words and the voice. He should have been able to kill all those orcs that came after him. If he had been stronger, he would have escaped them and this _elleth _would not suffer now. Ogol was right—Firyavaryar _was _weak. He had not fought hard enough before he was captured, not enough to save himself or this stranger._

"_Let her go."_

"_Why should I?" Ogol asked, studying him. "If you do not care for her, why do you want her free? She is nothing to you, pet. Ignore her. I shall play with her as I wish, and you cannot stop it."_

_Firyavaryar met the _elleth's _eyes, seeing the plea in them. She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but she collapsed, and he thought he saw blood coming out of her lips. He turned to Ogol. "She is dying anyway. Release her. Let her die with her people."_

"_Tell me," Ogol began, twisting the chain in his hands. "Would you trade your family for her?"_

_Varyar was glad she was not looking at him now. "No."_

"_I did not hear you. What did you say?"_

"_No," Firyavaryar repeated. He could not bring himself to do that. He had promised to protect his family, and he would not give them to Ogol, not even for this innocent _elleth. _He could not trade their lives for hers. He did not have any way to save her._

"_Yet you want her free," Ogol said, pulling him closer. "Tell me what you will do if I let her go."_

Varyar's eyes opened, and he scrambled away from the _onod, _sucking in air as he did. He shuddered though there was no chill in the midday sun. He looked up at it and shook his head, trying to make the images fade. He rubbed at his cheek even though he knew he had long ago washed that blood off his face.

He shook his head. He had not helped anyone then. He could not have. His only hope had been that if he continued to distract Ogol, the monster would not find his family, would not even search for them. He could not have saved that _elleth._

His hand touched the sheath for the knives Thranduil had offered him centuries ago, and he grimaced. Nostalion had tricked him into taking them and keeping them, but Varyar did not care. He pulled them onto his back and grabbed his cloak off the _onod. _

Nostalion would protect the others. Firyavaryar trusted him to do it, trusted Legolas to want to help, and he had to believe those two would keep his family safe in his absence. He knew he had to leave if he was going to be of any use to them. If he waited for nightfall, he would be harder for normal elves to track and they would be less likely to consider coming after him, but he did not believe he could wait. He had already stayed in Ithilien too long.

If Ogol was coming for him, he would not find him here.


	5. Threats or Squirrels

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Five  
Word Count:** 3,370**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** I managed to get myself slightly stuck after chapter four. The ideas were there, somewhere, rattling in this strange brain of mine, but they didn't want to become coherent and readable. It looked impossible to do what I needed to do, that is to say, to get Varyar all the way to where he needed to be and through a couple of conversations before the others reached him without being a) unbelievable and b) boring. Varyar traveling by himself? Not easy to write about, I have to say. He doesn't have Nostalion to play off of, and that is almost a crime. So then I wrote the scene that became the end of this chapter, since I knew that part at least had to happen, and then...

Then Legolas and Aragorn rescued me by being the friends they are that I don't show enough of, and so while the chapter doesn't move things as far along as I might have wanted to do at first, it gets things back on track and moving and that I am happy with.

I will still have to deal with the issue of the traveling, but I have some newer ideas that should help and will be in the next chapter. :)

* * *

**Threats or Squirrels**

"Tell me what it is that troubles you."

Aragorn shook his head, not wanting to look back at his friend. "They will notice our absence."

"And none of them are fools. They know that neither of us truly needed privacy to see to our bodies' needs," Legolas said, shaking his head, allowing a bit of amusement into his words.

Aragorn grunted. He would have said that Legolas was spending too much time with Firyavaryar, since that almost sounded more like his sense of humor than the prince's, but he did not know that was true. He thought it more likely he was more sensitive to it now, as he was more sensitive to everything now that he was king.

"So you think we need to _prove _that is what we were doing?"

"No," Legolas said, frowning at him. "I think that we may as well talk since they know we did not come out here to relieve ourselves. It was, perhaps, an excuse that might have worked on your guards—loyal men, all of them, though I do not know that their loyalty can atone for their lack of sense—but not those that know you or me well."

"And even if it had fooled some of them before, someone would be sure to explain the situation to the others."

"If by someone you mean Firyavaryar, then you would be correct if he had any intention of rejoining us before the night was over. You know that he does not," Legolas said. He smiled slightly. "I do not anticipate his return before the morning."

Aragorn frowned. "He leaves at night?"

"To the edge of Ithilien, but not beyond its borders. He is restless," Legolas answered. "You are not the only one with troubled nights."

"Do you have them as well?"

"I do hear the sea," Legolas admitted. He shook his head. "No, it is not my dreams that should concern anyone. I do not even think they need bother me. It is nothing more than usual. The sea's call is constant. Sometimes it is more intense, but it is not unbearable. I am fine."

"I doubt that," Aragorn said. He did not think that his friend having the sea longing was or ever could be fine. He knew that most elves that got it left Middle Earth, and he did not think that Legolas found it easy to stay. "Have you spoken to Firyavaryar about it?"

Legolas stared at him. "You think I should speak to Varyar about the sea longing? Why would you think I should speak to him at all?"

Aragorn shifted his feet, leaning back against the tree. "I do not know that I will ever like him, nor do I believe that he and I will become friends, whatever you might think of how we might have gotten along if I'd met him when he was an elfling. Still, he was the one who spoke to me of the sea longing, trying to stop you from getting it. I could not stop that, but I have not forgotten how he compared his poison skin to the sea longing. He could not touch. He might understand the pain you now feel."

Legolas nodded. "Perhaps he would—if I were in any pain and he were willing to discuss that. We are not out here to discuss the sea longing. Something has brought you back to Ithilien, and it is great indeed or it would not draw you here when you had only just left."

"Arwen thinks more of it than it is."

"She may not be wrong to worry."

Aragorn grimaced. "You are determined to make me—"

"Talk? Yes, Estel. I would have you speak of what is bothering you. If it is nothing, as you want to believe it is, then it is also nothing to speak of." Legolas nudged him with his elbow. "Come now. Even if I may have teased you a few times about your valiant heroism with the squirrel, we are still friends. I would not do anything to harm you—though I cannot promise not to tease or laugh if you were bested by that ferocious creature that threatened us before."

Aragorn shoved him. "There were greater threats out there before the squirrel came into the cave, and you always seem to forget that."

"It is how I prefer to remember it," Legolas disagreed with a grin. He stopped smiling after a moment. "Is this a squirrel or a greater threat?"

Aragorn let out a breath. "I do not know."

* * *

Taking the _onod _would have been faster, Firyavaryar grumbled, leaning against a tree and cursing the weakness of his body. He should be stronger now that he was not constantly battling a plague inside his own body, but he did not feel stronger. He should not be so pathetic, but he knew he was. He could not hope to face Ogol in his current state, though he did not even know that he would need to—and he had never won against that monster when he was in _good _health, so what would it matter if he was weak?

He would not expect to live through another time in Ogol's hands, and he did not know that he wanted to, but he did need to survive long enough to disrupt the monster's plans and save his family. Ogol had always claimed that Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel belonged to him as well, and their children would be considered his as well. Varyar had not worried about it when Thenidriel was born—they had all been foolish enough to believe that Ogol was dead then—but Alassë carried another and there was Tirithon as well.

His nephew worried him more than his niece. He knew that Thenidriel had charm, but part of what made Nostalion what he was had been from his parents, and if he had passed his own curse on to his son, then Tirithon was too dangerous to let Ogol or anyone like him have.

He cursed. He should have done as Nostalion suggested, found some way of preventing his siblings from having children. He did not like himself for the thought, but he knew it was not safe. He had kept himself from having any—why not them?

He shook his head. He knew why. He knew that he had done everything he could to let them have the lives that he could not have. He had been the one Ogol tortured, not them. He had been the one marked, the one broken. They were not. He had tried to keep them from ever being hurt by Ogol, and he knew he had failed, but he had protected them as much as he could. He had given them as much freedom as he could even if he had to be a prisoner to do it.

He let out a breath, forcing himself forward. He did not expect to reach his destination before nightfall, not for several days. He would not have much time before the others noticed his absence and started to follow him. Nostalion would know where he was as soon as he looked. Varyar could possibly make it more difficult for his _gwador, _but he did not know that he wanted to.

He knew what he had to do, but he could only predict so much of what would happen. He knew that Legolas would be worried and would eventually persuade Sérëdhiel—who would also be worried—to talk to Nostalion and get him to agree to follow Firyavaryar—if the assassin had not already chosen to do so on his own, though he did not think Nostalion would leave the others unprotected. He did not trust Legolas or the other elves enough for that. Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel could defend themselves, but they were not alone. They had to watch over the children, too.

No, the others needed protection, and Nostalion would know that. He would give it because he was loyal and they were family. He would give Varyar some time to do this on his own, to get the answers he needed.

Or to be the bait that he knew he was.

If Ogol came for him, he wanted to be alone when it happened. He did not want anyone else to suffer because of him.

Firyavaryar touched the knives he wore on his back. He had not expected to find them a comfort. He had not needed weapons in centuries—he had _been _a weapon—and he had never wanted the set that Thranduil offered him. They were ancient. Ceremonial. They did not belong to someone like him. Avari. Betrayer. He was unworthy of the blades, and if Ogol found him, he would take them.

Varyar did not expect Ogol to die by any knife. It would take far more than that.

* * *

"You think it is foolish."

"No, Estel. I do not," Legolas said. He leaned back against the tree, considering what his friend had told him. All of them had experienced troubled dreams of late, but it was not clear if that trouble sleeping was anything connected or mere coincidence. They all knew trouble, and they all had their own reasons for disturbing dreams. The past held much darkness—some known to all, some known to few—and they had all suffered.

"I have upset you," Estel began, frowning. "That was not my intention. I know I came here for answers—no, I came for solace. I think answers are too much to expect when there is nothing wrong. I am responsible for much more than I used to be, and I have had trouble adjusting to it. That is all this is, Legolas. I need to stop chasing other threats because there is none greater to my kingdom or my family than my own insecurity."

Legolas nodded, knowing that was, in part, true. "We must all overcome our own weakness if we are to be strong for others."

"Is that something your father said?"

"No, my mother," Legolas answered, smiling when he saw his friend's frown. "She always added that _Ada _had thought too much was weakness and pride was strength. Then she would laugh and touch my cheek and tell me that I was plenty strong enough for her."

Estel smiled in return. "I wish I could have known your mother."

"So do I. She would have liked you."

Estel looked away for a moment before speaking again. "Do you think it was true? What Firyavaryar said about Ogol killing your mother to create the bond between you two?"

Legolas winced. He did not want to contemplate that idea, though his mind had gone back to it more than once since Varyar spoke of it. "As he said, it is not impossible. From what I know of Ogol, it does seem like something he would have done—he is certainly _capable _of having done it—and even more so than that, he would say it. He was the sort for games, twisted ones, and he wanted his words to cause pain. Telling Varyar that our friendship was all a part of his manipulations, that it was meaningless—yes, Ogol would have done that. He would have wanted Varyar to believe it even if it was not true.

"Not you."

"I do not believe that Ogol sought to break my mind in the same way he did Varyar's. Remember that Ogol wanted Firyavaryar to lead an army. That would take a kind of obedience and loyalty that was unshakable, and we both know that even I as his oldest friend do not have that from Varyar. His devotion is to his family first and always. Telling him our friendship was arranged would take away more of Varyar's hope. It would make going against Ogol seem pointless. If Varyar ever accepted that, then he would be broken. He would have seen no way of protecting his family, and he would have surrendered to Ogol to make what small bargains he could to ease the life Ogol would force them all to have. To have Varyar think that he could have aid from my father and me and Greenwood—no, that was something that Ogol would never allow, even if it were true. I would have helped him. I would have tried to free him years ago if I had only known this shadow existed."

Estel nodded. "If Ogol arranged your friendship, he made a mistake. He did not know how loyal you'd be or how willing you are to fight for your friends. Or even how diverse a group your friends are. No, he should have taken you. You could have raised an army. I doubt Firyavaryar can. He lacks the personality for it."

"You would know, as you have it in near a perfect form," Legolas tried to tease, but he was not comforted by his friend's words. It was not that he feared being taken himself. If Ogol truly could not raise an army with Varyar—and Firyavaryar _did_ make it difficult to be his friend or follow him—then why would the monster still want him centuries later?

Estel broke the silence they had settled into, his words a low whisper that only elven ears would hear. "Do you think it is only a squirrel?"

Legolas sighed. He wanted to believe that it was, but his own dreams were so unsettling that he could not, and with Varyar as agitated as he was—not unlike the way he had been when he left Greenwood—he could not.

"No, Estel, I fear it is not."

* * *

"First they insist on a feast in the honor of the king. Then the king pretends he needs to use the privy, disappears, and the feast goes on without the king. The dwarf gets the guards drunk, and the king never returns," Alassë said, shaking her head. "The ways of the _edain _still confuse me."

"They are _edain. _We do not need to understand them. Tolerance is more than they deserve," Nostalion said, sitting down with Tirithon. "We are not all as insane as your brother's friend is in seeking out their company."

"Were Legolas not as tolerant as _he _is, we would not have a home now," Sérëdhiel reminded her husband quietly. She shook her head. "I do not wish to lose it, even if we must dwell by _edain _to have it. I do not care for life as nomad, and I never have. I would like to make something permanent here if we can."

Alassë turned away, adjusting Thenidriel's place in Idhrenion's arms. He rolled over, already snoring quietly into his daughter's hair. She smiled down at him, and Sérëdhiel wondered if this pregnancy would leave her as restless at night as the other one did. They did not need another one kept from sleep—Varyar was doing that for too many already. He did not sleep, he kept Nostalion awake watching over him, and she did not doubt that Eruaistaniel's poor mood had much to do with Firyavaryar. Even Sérëdhiel had lost sleep to her brother's doubts, and she did not know that they could allow themselves to be unready for what might be coming.

"I know you want this to be permanent, Sérëdhiel—we are none of us ignorant of that, but I do not think I agree," Alassë told her, grimacing as she shifted positions. "I am not used to living among trees and calling camps home. I do not know how you can do this. Wood elves must be as insane as _edain. _I cannot say why they think this is comfortable."

"You are disagreeable because you carry a child," Eruaistaniel told her. "You cannot remember the fine halls of our old home—we did not have them. We may have held court in something closer to Imladris than this, but it was not peaceful and it was not safe. We cannot call that home."

"You did," Alassë said with a snort. "If they had not killed Tegalad, you would still be there, the favored princess, mistress of all she knew and all she saw—and ignorant of all its flaws and corruption."

"Alassë," Sérëdhiel began, frowning. She knew that the other _elleth _was struggling with her moods due to her condition, but she did not need to be cruel to Eruaistaniel, not now. "Stop it."

"Perhaps it would have been better if they killed me when they killed Tegalad," Eruaistaniel said, twisting her hands together. "I do not think I have been much of any use since—"

"Do not say that."

"Firyavaryar would not have saved your life if he did not see a value in your survival," Nostalion told his cousin. "You are valued. Tegalad was not worth your death."

"You should not have had to suffer because someone else wanted power," Sérëdhiel insisted. "And Alassë—you are not normally this cruel. You do tease and provoke, but not in such a malicious way. What is troubling you?"

Alassë reached over to brush back her daughter's hair, studying her family and not looking at them. "What if I have twins?"

Sérëdhiel grimaced. She had forgotten how her sister feared that. She herself did not worry over it. They had not been raised to believe that twins were any different from other children, but some long ago patriarch had twisted that in Alassë's family so that she and almost everyone else were terrified of conceiving twins.

"No one will take them from you or try to kill them," Nostalion said, his voice cold. Alassë's head jerked up, and she looked over at him, staring as though she could not believe what he said. Sérëdhiel had suspected that they had wanted him to kill twins in the past, but she did not know if he had or was only expected to. "You know this. Idhrenion would not let them, and he is not like Turvuin. Nor is Varyar. We do not live among those with that prejudice. You have the protection of a foolish prince who would not allow your children to come to harm, either."

Sérëdhiel had the terrible thought that Ogol would actually _welcome _twins from any of them, and she forced it from her head. She would not share that with Alassë. "None of us will allow harm to come to the children. That would not change if you have twins. You are family, and in this family, we protect the ones we love even if it means death."

"It is no comfort to think that Idhrenion would die for our children. Turvuin did for his."

"That is _if _Varyar allowed Idhrenion to fight at all," Eruaistaniel said. "That is not likely. He would rather he died for everyone than let any of us come to harm."

Alassë frowned. "Where is Firyavaryar? He never did join us. Did he join you and the king, Legolas?"

"No, he did not," Legolas answered, giving her a slight smile as he and the ranger came closer to their sleeping ground. He stopped, not bringing the man any further into their space. "We thought that we should not wait until morning—few of us will have any rest tonight—to ask Varyar about what is troubling him and if it could be connected to the dreams others have had."

Sérëdhiel almost smiled. "I think you know his answer to that would be no, even if it were not true. He has not returned, and it is almost dark enough to where even elves should not attempt to track him."

The king frowned. "If you do not think it worth discussing—"

"I did not say that," Sérëdhiel interrupted. She shook her head. "We have become accustomed to letting Varyar come and go as he will. He is not one to be caged, nor can we be his jailors. Though I know it is not what you want to hear, I believe you shall have to wait until morning."

"No," Nostalion said. "They will have to wait much longer than that. Firyavaryar is gone."


	6. The Disquiet of Past and Present

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Six  
Word Count:** 5,390**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** I have been having one of those debates with myself again. Not only did this end up diverting a bit from what I was planning on, letting this drag on a bit, too long in getting going again, I fear, but also... I started this to answer the question of Ogol, and if I do answer that and get into the reasons for what he did and his interference in Varyar's life and his family's... well, that really is going to make this a story about Varyar. So I started to wonder if there was a better place for putting a story like this since it has become more and more about Varyar and less and less about Lord of the Rings, even though Varyar has pulled others into his chaos.

I would continue it privately, to finish the saga for at least my own sake, but if anyone else wanted the answer to Ogol, then how would I share it besides posting it here? I don't really have another place to do it, but it feels kind of wrong to put this as fanfiction when it's not enough about the canon characters.

* * *

**The Disquiet of the Past and Present**

"_Sérëdhiel."_

_She looked up from the book she'd been reading to Idhrenion, frowning at the sound of her father's voice. Something about it was wrong, and she did not like the way his skin looked, either. When she watched him, she saw Firyavaryar, how he would be when he was older, though she knew that her brother looked like their mother, too. Now _Ada _looked like Varyar after he'd fought with those _edain _boys who teased Idhrenion. He'd been hurt then, and she'd been scared, but their mother had showed her how to care for him, and he'd been annoyed by the attention, swearing he did not need it._

Ada _needed it._

"_What happened? I didn't hear anyone come in, but you're hurt and—"_

"_Is Idhrenion asleep?"_

"_Yes, _Ada, _but I can wake him if we need to," she answered. He shook his head, leaning against the wall. She set the book aside and eased herself out from under her younger brother. Idhrenion stirred slightly, but then his snoring resumed, and she smiled at him. Then she bit her lip, looking at her father. "What is it?"_

"_Your brother is going to need you," Erurainon said, and she felt a twist in her stomach. __Her father's tone did not seem right, and he seemed to grow more fatigued with each second. "He will need so much more than you, and I do not know that we were able to prepare him enough. We should have done more, but then he would have known nothing of freedom. We would have been his captors instead."_

_That was wrong. Her father was talking madness. __"__Idhrenion i__s asleep. He's fine. You're not. You should lie down and—"_

"_I need you to make me a promise," he told her, taking hold of her shoulders. He shuddered, and she wanted to run. She didn't think that he was going to hurt her, no, but she was scared for him. He was very sick to talk this way—that or wounded so badly he would die. "I need you to make this and keep it for always, Sérëdhiel."_

"_Yes, _Ada." _She did not know what it was, but she would say anything to get him into bed where she could start treating him until their mother came back. __She did not know enough to heal anyone, but _Nana _did, and she would be home soon. She had only taken Varyar to the village for food. They should return in a matter of minutes, and he would not die before then._

"_You have to promise__," her father said, looking at her in a way that made her tremble. He was terrified, and she did not like seeing her father scared.__"__We should have prepared all of you, but we thought we could wait. We started with Varyar, but it may not be enough. __Your brother will need your help. Your support. He is going to need your trust, and you need to give it to him. You need to believe in him, that he will return, and when he does, you need to do as he tells you."_

"_I don't know why you're saying that. __I don't know why you would want that promise. I do not need to obey Varyar when I have you and _Nana, _and what did you not prepare us for? What is wrong? Did someone hurt you?"_

"_Not me. Not directly, anyway. This is not—I do not matter now. Only Firyavaryar does. He is special. He does not know how, and he does not know how much he will suffer for that, but he is."_

_She choked. "What happened to Varyar? _Ada, _what is wrong? Did someone hurt Varyar? Why are you talking like he's gone? Where's _Nana? _She went with him to the village, __so if something happened to him, it had to happen to her. What__—"_

"_Your mother is dead."_

_Sérëdhiel stared at her father. She did not want to believe that—could not believe it. "No. You couldn't know that. No one has come to notify us, and they're not home, but that does not mean that she's dead or that Varyar is gone. You are wrong."_

"_I feel as though half of me has been ripped away," Erurainon whispered, grimacing. "I do not know that I am strong enough to recover from this wound in my spirit. I need to because you and your brothers need me, but without her..."_

"_She could still come home," Sérëdhiel said, and her father __shook his head, but he was sick, and he did not know what he was saying. This was some kind of fevered delusion. Their mother was alive. She was fine.__ "She could. __She will.__"_

"_No, daughter. I know that is what you want to believe, but s__he will not return. __Your mother is dead.__" Erurainon closed his eyes, __pained.__ "__I felt her go, and I feel myself leaving with her. I do not know how to fight that."_

"Ada—"

"_Your brother is strong. __He will return.__ Hold onto that hope. Always hold onto that. You can trust in him," __her father said, opening his eyes with tears. He was fading. She could see it. He was slipping away even as he spoke. "All of you are strong, strong enough to survive what is coming. Varyar will fight for you, but you will have your own battles as well."_

_She swallowed, trying not to cry. Her mother was gone. Her father was dying. Her brother was—she didn't know what was happening to her brother, but someone must have killed their mother, and if they killed her, then that person __had__ hurt Varyar, too. "Please..."_

"_You and Varyar are close. Almost twins," Erurainon said, __touching her cheek.__ "You know him well. You understand him. You can trust him, and you will know if anything happens to him. He has always protected you, and he will do that now."_

_She forced herself to nod. "__I know Varyar will take care of us, _Ada. _You do, too. You can rest now. He will come. He will protect us."_

"_I wish we could have protected him. We wanted to, but we did not know how. We could not save ourselves. How could we save any of you?" Erurainon stumbled, and she tried to catch him but buckled under his weight. "I pray your brother can do what we could not. He is loyal and strong, and that might be enough. I hope it is."_

"Ada," _she whispered, touching his face, but her father was already gone. She curled up beside him and cried, trying not to wake Idhrenion with her tears. Let him sleep. He did not need to know of this, not yet._

* * *

"It is not only our son that keeps you from rest," Nostalion observed, sitting down beside Sérëdhiel as she rocked Tirithon in her arms. She did not look at him, her eyes on the distance, though she knew that she could not hope to see where her brother was or even what direction he had gone in. Nostalion would know that, but she did not know that she wanted to ask him. "Are you angry?"

"With Varyar or with you?"

"Why not both?"

"I should be angry," she said, though she thought she was numb. She could not speak to her own emotions, could not sort through them, not after remembering the way her father had died, that horrible day she had thought she lost everyone but Idhrenion. "You let Varyar go and did not tell us he was gone until long after he had left. He is out there alone, and even if he is cured, he should not be alone."

"He needed to go, and he was going to leave whether I permitted it or not," Nostalion said, and now her anger stirred. He could say that, and it might be true, but he could have stopped Varyar, and she did not know if she felt he should have. Part of her did, but the rest of her was uncertain. "All I did was ensure that he did not go unarmed. If that hastened his decision, then I suppose that was unwise, yet it was equally unwise to leave him festering in these doubts and nightmares. He needs answers, and they are not here. They will never come to him here."

"No," she disagreed quietly. "They could come here, but he would not want that."

Nostalion frowned. "You think Ogol would risk attacking Ithilien outright? It does not sound like his kind of tactic, not from what Varyar has said."

"It is not like what he does most times, no, but he has been denied what he thought was his for a long time now, and our family has grown. He might think it worth risking."

"Even if your brother is gone?"

She grimaced. "No, I do not know that he would try for us with Varyar elsewhere. He did take us before, but there has always been a part to this that seemed... more focused on my brother than any of the rest of us."

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps I am being foolish and reacting too much to the faith my parents had in my brother," she said, frowning. Sometimes, when she thought about the day her father died or even a few times before then, she did wonder if they had known what Ogol wanted him, if they had tried to prepare him for this horrible lifelong battle. How much of Ogol's intentions had they understood, how much had they guess, and how much could they have spared their children from if they had chosen a path other than placing all hope for the future in Firyavaryar?

"I do not know. It is interesting, though, that Ogol was willing to accept Varyar and Legolas in exchange for me and Idhrenion. Why would he not simply claim us all? Eruaistaniel did not matter to him, I know that, since he saw her as weak as everyone does so foolishly, but even so, why allow any kind of exchange if we all are and always have been forfeit to him?"

"One of Ogol's games, perhaps?"

She let out a breath. "It could be. Yet it has always been Varyar who was to command this army of Ogol's, always him that was taken and tortured. Part of that is because of who he is and his unwillingness to let us be the ones harmed, but it is not only that. Ogol has a reason for claiming my brother, but I do not know what it is or why he matters so much."

"Your brother has a strange sort of charm to him. People will follow him even when they think they should not."

She leaned her head against Nostalion's shoulder. "If you are speaking of yourself, I do not think I agree. It was not his strange charm. I think you always wanted a reason to change what you were doing. Varyar gave you a good one, and while you did not use it immediately, you did let it free you a life that you had not chosen."

"You think Varyar freed me? Should he have been named liberator instead of protector?"

"He has done everything he could keep us free even if he is not, but I do not think that his name is ill-fitting. He is still a protector. He would die for any of us, and that we never question," Sérëdhiel said, hating that truth as much as it sometimes comforted her. She closed her eyes. "Is love a weakness?"

"You ask me that? Do you think I have some notion of you and Tirithon making me weak?"

She shuddered. "No."

"What is it, _meleth?"_

"You know my father faded," she whispered. That was no secret. They spoke of it often enough. Erurainon had not survived Calathiel's death. "He said that half of him that was torn away, and he said he knew he needed to stay, but he did not. Could not. He passed so quickly—it was not a fade. It was a blink. He was gone almost in that same instant."

"And you think it weakness?"

Sérëdhiel had not understood it then. She had been angry and scared, a child too young to know anything but grief, uncertain how they would survive when their parents were dead and Firyavaryar was missing, but now she knew what it was to have half of her caught up in another. If she lost Nostalion, she did not know if she herself could survive it. She had Tirithon, and she would not abandon her son, but she would not want to be without her bond, without the elf that ended up claiming her heart.

She held her son against her chest, wondering how it was possible to divide the heart into so many pieces. Varyar had a large part of it, Idhrenion the next, and she would have thought that Nostalion's place would have left room for no other, but now Tirithon had a piece as well, and how did she keep splitting herself apart for all of them?

"Varyar does. I have known for many years that as much as he loves us, he hates us for being his weakness. He will not let others harm us, and they know that, so they use it. Ogol has so many times. If Varyar did not care about us, he would not be weak to that kind of manipulation or that fear."

"Firyavaryar does not hate you. Or Idhrenion. He may hate himself for the perceived weakness, but not you or your brother."

"I have never felt it right that he suffered for us." She let out a breath. "In the morning, Legolas will ask you to lead them to him."

"I know. He would have followed already if he had known Varyar was gone."

"I think you will have to take them," Sérëdhiel said, knowing her heart was already torn. "I do not know if that is because I fear for my brother or if I should fear for their sake, going after him, and I do not like any of this, but I do not know that Varyar can survive another round of Ogol's torture. If that monster lives, this could be the time that breaks him. He has more to lose, and that gives Ogol the leverage he needs."

Nostalion pulled her into his arms, careful to avoid squishing Tirithon as he held onto them both. "I always intended to find Varyar. He was able to go alone only because I knew I would reach him later."

She nodded. "I know. That is why I am not angry. I just worry that later may be too late."

* * *

The dawn brought Legolas no comfort this morning. The night had not passed easily, and he would have preferred dreams about the sea longing to the uncertainty weighing upon him now. He had tried to decide what he should do, what the best course for everyone was, and he could find no clear answer. The part of him that wanted to chase right after Firyavaryar was halted, kept from action by his loyalty to other friends, his responsibilities here in Ithilien, and the knowledge of how his last insistence on pursuing Varyar had led to disaster.

He did not want to lose his friend, though it seemed likely. He worried over Varyar going off on his own. The other elf was not sleeping, had not recovered from the removal of the poison as Legolas had thought he would, and even though their exercises with the knives had proved that Firyavaryar remembered how to use them and was rather good with them—not the same level of swordsman that Estel was, no, and even though Varyar claimed to be letting Legolas win, he did not think that was true this time. Firyavaryar should not have gone off alone.

Yet to have that opinion, to act upon it, to drag him back as though he were a wayward elfling, that was another way to lose him. Varyar had survived centuries of torture, had overcome being a walking plague, and he would not want anyone to keep him from what he felt he must do. He had tried to refuse Legolas' help before, and he would do so again. This time might be worse than the previous one.

Though it should not be. Ogol was dead.

Only Legolas did not think Varyar believed that. If he did, he would not have gone. Legolas could think of no other reason why Firyavaryar would leave his family, not when Alassë carried a second child. No, Varyar must believe that Ogol was still a threat, and he had gone to seek the monster.

And if he found him...

"I see you got as little rest as I did," Estel observed. "Though usually you elves are not so obvious about it."

Legolas forced a smile, trying to take comfort in the humor, but there was little to be found. "I want to set myself on a course of folly again, and though I have tried to reason it out, I have not managed to convince myself yet."

"You think you should stay here instead of going after Firyavaryar?"

"Yes." Legolas almost laughed at his friend's reaction. "I am not ignorant of my responsibilities, Estel, just as you are not. You fret too much over them, over what it means to be a king. I am not a king, but I have asked these elves to help me rebuild Ithilien. I have become... their leader. I have much I owe to them. I have much I owe to my father's kingdom as well. Sometimes I feel I should be there, helping Greenwood, not here, much as I love Ithilien."

Estel nodded. "It is hard to live in two lands. It is hard to belong to more than one people. As a ranger, I had freedom. I patrolled the north, but I could go to Rohan or Gondor when it suited me, and I did. Now I feel almost trapped in Minas Tirith. The king belongs with his people. I tell myself that almost every day."

Legolas touched his friend's arm. "You are a good king. You have not forgotten or overlooked any of your responsibility, not by coming here—and not by remembering how it once was. I fear we all had greater freedom then, even if we did not know it."

"Yes."

"How were your dreams last night?" Legolas asked, watching Estel's reaction. The man frowned, and Legolas could see he little liked the question, but he knew they needed to discuss it. "Did they improve with Varyar gone?"

"You think he was the cause of my distress? I did not. I told Arwen that before we came here. I do not fear his presence here. I am... not relieved that he is gone."

Legolas studied the king. "Why not? It is not only because you think he might have understood the sea longing, is it? I do not think he would discuss such a thing, and I do not need Varyar to comfort me there. I cope with that, and it is not the burden you would make yourself feel guilty for."

"I hope that is true."

"Estel—"

"What if Firyavaryar knows the source of that hidden threat? We have no explanation for his survival, and if he did not die in that fall, then perhaps Ogol did not, either. If that is true, then he could be a threat. Not necessarily to Gondor, but to you and the people of Ithilien. He did want an elven army, didn't he? Why not try for it here?"

Legolas grimaced. "I do not think that is how Ogol would think to get one, and I would hope that his forces were scattered if not killed outright when the caverns collapsed. What good was any of that sacrifice or betrayal if Ogol's armies remain in tact? If he can go against Ithilien or Gondor, then none of what happened there was worth it."

"You will not hear me argue that it was worth it, for I cannot see a reason why you should have to suffer. You are a loyal friend, but that should be valued, not punished, and you were punished for your loyalty, even if you do not want to see that."

"It is true that I made foolish choices, and Varyar did know what the cost would be if I followed him. He tried to stop me, but I did not listen. Ogol was the one that punished me for loyalty, though, not Firyavaryar. How can Varyar fault anyone for a crime he is so very guilty of?" Legolas asked, laughing a little. "It is loyalty to his family that motivates almost all of his actions. Even now, I think he is trying to aid them."

"By what?"

"Acting as a lure. If Ogol is alive, catching Varyar on his own would be easier than coming directly against Ithilien and Gondor, and remember—Ogol expected Firyavaryar to lead the army. He would need the figurehead first."

Estel shook his head. "Then your friend could be giving Ogol what he wants."

"Varyar? Never. He will give Ogol what he _thinks _he wants, but even if Ogol succeeded in getting Firyavaryar to lead his army, they would follow him, and he would never do what that monster wants. He might pretend that he would, but he would not. I think Ogol is why Varyar left, yes, but I do not know that he is the threat you have been disturbed by. Our restlessness may not be connected to Firyavaryar's at all."

"Is that what you truly believe, or is it what you are trying to convince yourself of so that you do not rush after Firyavaryar again?"

Legolas sighed. "I think it is too much to assume that Ogol could harm anyone but Varyar and his family after what happened to his forces and his base. I want to go after Firyavaryar, yes, but I think he is chasing a ghost. It is not the same this time. The threat to Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel is not immediate. I know I should not go after him. It is difficult to listen to that wisdom, but it is still true."

* * *

"Do you intend to go after Firyavaryar?"

The assassin looked up from his son, frowning slightly. Aragorn thought he should have expected the question, so he did not know why the elf seemed so suspicious about it. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to know if you will go after him. That's not hard to figure out. Even us idiotic _edain _could have understood that from my question."

Nostalion smiled. "Your thinking I assume _edain _to be simpleminded is foolish. Alassë takes comfort in belittling you that way, but that is because what they threatened her with and what Eruaistaniel suffered was the work of simple minds. They thought of only one thing, and it was not worth dying over, yet they did."

"You don't think we're all idiots?"

"I think you have many faults, and yes, I have seen you be quite foolish, but what I dislike about _edain _is not their stupidity. It is easy to dismiss the stupid as useless."

Aragorn did not think he understood all of that, but he did not want to ask any more questions, not when he thought the assassin was enjoying confusing him. He did not care to be baited. "Legolas is trying to convince himself not to go after Firyavaryar."

Nostalion nodded. "Explains your presence. I had thought he would be the one asking, as did Sérëdhiel, but then perhaps he did learn from his betrayal after all."

"Are you saying that Firyavaryar would betray him again?"

"No. No one holds his family prisoner this time, and if anyone suffers for Varyar's choices, it will be Varyar. Perhaps some others will feel the pain of certain decisions, but their discomfort will be minor compared to his." Nostalion shifted the child in his arms. "If you have come to ask me not to take Legolas if he decides to pursue Varyar—"

"I came to ask you if there was any reason to pursue Firyavaryar at all."

The assassin sat back, studying Aragorn carefully. "You are not as foolish as you have seemed in the past. You want to know if this will come to endanger your kingdom, is that it? I do not know. Even Varyar does not know if Ogol survived, and it is unlikely that he will find a way to prove that Ogol died in the fall, even could he find the place where he and Legolas were taken again."

"Then why did he go? He knows that, doesn't he? He's not an idiot."

"If Ogol lives, drawing him out after Varyar is one way of proving that. If he does not go after Firyavaryar, we could almost assume that he is dead."

Aragorn nodded. He could understand that. He did not know how intelligent a theory that was, but he could see Firyavaryar choosing it as his method for answering the question of the monster's death. "Is that almost enough to satisfy you? Or would it be enough for Firyavaryar?"

"For me? Perhaps. For Varyar? No."

"Why not?"

The assassin rose. "I have said all I intend to say about this matter. Varyar needed to go. He has gone. Dragging him back does nothing to change what caused him to leave, and I will not aid the prince of Greenwood in that. You may tell him that if you wish and take that comfort from it if you will. Now go."

Aragorn glared at him. The elf might have been Avari, and he might have been a skilled assassin, and it was true that Aragorn did not care for the fanfare that came with being a king, but Nostalion could show some respect. "Do you think Ogol is dead?"

Nostalion frowned. "Why would that matter?"

"I'm a king. It is my responsibility to deal with threats to my kingdom. Legolas thinks that Ogol's threat is to your family alone—or he is trying to believe that—but I do not know that any of us can risk that. If you think Ogol lives—and you should know—then he is out there, he is a threat, and he should be stopped."

"Now you are being an idiot. If I could tell for certain whether Ogol lived or died, do you think I would hold back that knowledge from Varyar? From anyone? If Ogol lives, he may now seek my son. I want him dead. I was never close enough to Ogol to get a sense of him. I do not know if he lives or not, same as the rest of you."

"You were there when Firyavaryar traded Legolas to Ogol."

"We were all affected by that unnatural fog, and as for the other time he appeared, it was after a battle full of the stench of death and the collapse of the cavern. There was too much confusion. I did not get a sense of Varyar's survival until after I was in Greenwood."

That explained part of it, at least. Aragorn wanted clarity, the same answer they all wanted, but the one person they would have turned to for it could not give it. "Will you take me to Firyavaryar?"

"You?"

"I still believe this could be a threat to Gondor, and if not Gondor, than Ithilien or other allies. If Ogol lives, he must be stopped."

"Is that all?"

"That—and Legolas has already grieved too much for Firyavaryar. He cannot lose him again."

* * *

"_We have made a terrible bargain," Calathiel whispered, clutching her young son to her, tears escaping her eyes as she did. "What have we done, Erurainon?"_

"_The only thing we could do," Erurainon answered, wrapping his arm around her and the child. "We could no more pledge ourselves to him than we could deny our love for each other, and it is not that we had an alternative. We either gave him ourselves as his slaves forever, or we got what time we might have to create this family he claims to want."_

"_We have condemned our children," she said, her body shaking with her words. "We are free, but they will pay the price for it."_

"_Would you rather they knew nothing of freedom at all?" Erurainon asked, his voice quiet. "What if you had carried this one while he still held us prisoner? What if he grew up knowing nothing but what that monster wants to teach him? We may not be able to give our children much—we cannot give ourselves anything—but we can teach them what they will need to fight him."_

"_That is why you want to call him Firyavaryar. You want to make him protect us all from that monster, but he is only a baby. He cannot save any of us."_

_Erurainon shook his head. "I already see a strength in him that I never had, and I swear I will teach him to fight. I will make him stronger than I am. Our lives are forfeit, Calathiel. We know this. We have always known this. Our bargain—if you think we can truly call it that—is only enough to tempt us into thinking we are free when we know we are not. Somewhere he has spies watching us. Somewhere is his army waiting to steal our son. I do not know what his game is this time, but all we can hope to do is make our son a better player at it than we have ever been, than our parents were, if that was even who turned us over to him in the first place. I no longer know or trust what I thought I knew."_

"_Erurainon—" _

"_I trust you," he said, kissing her forehead. "And I trust Firyavaryar. Nothing else."_

_Calathiel looked down at her _gwinig _and cursed softly. "I am so sorry, Varyar. I do not know how to take this burden away from you, not even how to ease it. He will come for you, and I hope your father is right and you have the strength to fight him. You will need it. Oh, my poor son, how you are going to need it."_

Varyar jerked awake, shuddering against the tree. He had never known any of his nightmares to come in that form. He did not dream about his parents often, and when he did, it was most often the day his mother died. None of the dreams had been like that before. He had been a _gwinig. _That could not be one of his memories. He would have been too young.

His mind was twisting it. He was trying to make his parents into the monsters as well, making them a true part of Ogol's evil, but he had never believed that before, not even... No. He would not think about that, would not let more memories become tainted. His parents might have been fools, his father might have been weak, but they were not evil.

Sometimes he grew angry, sometimes he blamed them for all of this, for dying and leaving them, but he knew that was his own guilt and grief. He had been Ogol's prisoner. He knew what that monster was like, knew the lies and the torture and the helplessness. He knew what it was like to make bargains with that creature, how one could almost be desperate enough to believe that they would do the unthinkable just to be free.

He shook his head. No. He would not think about this anymore. It was another nightmare, nothing more, and he had too far to go to linger here. He needed to reach Lórien before the others found him. He needed to run.


	7. Departures, Dreams, and Denial

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Seven  
Word Count:** 5,659**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** Sometimes I wish that traveling in stories could be like map travel in the Muppets or doing it in a montage... I guess I tried for the montage, finally, to get past the block that was keeping me from getting this together. I had the idea of Varyar meeting with Galadriel and looking into the pool, and I wasn't sure if it would fit into the story, and I was starting to doubt that I would even get Firyavaryar to Lórien.

And Lórien is where the story really begins and I can start on a very overdue explanation, one that I've kind of owed since Varyar made his first appearance. Funny how I used to think there was too much backstory to tell all of what went on with him before _Storms _without it taking over everything. Firyavaryar took over everything anyway. It's what he does. He takes over and brings chaos, and everyone gets pulled along into his messes and the danger that goes with them.

* * *

**Departures, Dreams, and Denial**

He was an idiot.

He knew that, but he had not thought that it would become so obvious like this. He had been feeling foolish for a while, even before the dreams, but with the way they bothered him, the way he reacted to them, he felt more the helpless child his son was than the king that he was supposed to be.

He should never have gone to Nostalion, should not have asked him to lead him to Firyavaryar.

Hearing light footsteps behind him, accompanied by a slight rustle of the foliage as someone approached behind him, Aragorn let out a breath, not ready to turn around and face the person who had come to confront him, not when he himself doubted his decision. "Are you angry with me?"

"Should I be?" Arwen asked, coming up to stand beside him. She wrapped her hand around his arm, letting her head rest against him. "Or were you expecting a different elf when you spoke?"

Aragorn almost laughed. He had thought that he would see Legolas first, had since he had expected others to tell him about Aragorn's conversation with Nostalion before they told Arwen, but he did not know that he was ungrateful that she had found him first. "I hope not."

"Why would you think I would be?" She reached up to run her finger along his forehead, tracing the lines there. "You are worrying too much again. I do not think it is the dream this time. Have you found the cause of your distress, then? Is it Firyavaryar? You said you did not think it was, but that has changed now that he is gone, has it?"

Aragorn grunted. "I don't know if Firyavaryar being gone has anything to do with why I've had troubling dreams. It is possible that the threat is Ogol if Ogol is alive, and if he is, only Firyavaryar can find him."

"Then you must find Firyavaryar."

He smiled, kissing the top of her head. She understood, and he knew he would come back for her and their son. He would not let Firyavaryar put any of them in danger, not again, but he wanted to know if Ogol lived, _needed _to know.

"Are you insane, Estel?"

Arwen laughed softly. "That elf sounds like he just might be angry. Difficult to believe of Legolas, but you might still possess that talent."

Aragorn frowned. He did not want to fight with his friend again, and what he had done was not wrong. He knew that. "Legolas—"

"We talked about this. We agreed that going after Varyar was the wrong choice. Our responsibilities should keep us here. We both know that," Legolas said. "Why did you go to Nostalion and ask him to lead you to Varyar? Why would you do that? You are the king of Gondor, and you would not want to be lead into another trap—even if it was not one Firyavaryar intended to lead us into last time. Why would you risk that?"

"For you," Arwen said. She smiled, giving Aragorn's cheek a kiss before quietly slipping away and leaving them there alone. Legolas stared after her for a moment, and Aragorn felt the tension growing in the lingering silence.

"Tell me you did not do it for me, Estel."

Aragorn shook his head. "This is not just about you, _mellon-n__í__n, _though I did think it unfair that you had to suffer, not knowing his fate or even thinking again that he had died. That was not my only reason for asking Nostalion to lead me to him. I think if Ogol is alive, he is a threat to all of us, not just Firyavaryar. I want to know if the threat exists. I want to stop it if it does."

Legolas grimaced. "I have tried to convince myself that is reason enough to chase Varyar, but we both know that it should not be. We risk Gondor and Ithilien in going after someone who does not want us there."

"Perhaps. This may be our only way of getting answers, though."

The elf nodded, looking into the distance. "I want Varyar to be wrong. I want Ogol to be dead. Yet I know my friend—I should not say that since I do not know as much as I always thought I did, but I know—I know that he would not leave his family unless he thought that he was protecting them somehow by going."

"You always said his devotion to his family came before everything else."

"And you know it does. He traded me for them."

Aragorn did not want to remember that. He did, however, refuse to let it happen again. "I hope Firyavaryar is wrong, too. I do not know that he is. I would rather we stop Ogol together, but if you want to stay here, I will go alone."

Legolas shook his head. "No. You know you will not go alone, _mellon-nín. _I will not let you do that, not for me or for anyone else."

"You talk too much," Nostalion said, appearing behind them suddenly. They turned, and he gave them each a look of disgust. "If you do not want to find Firyavaryar, then remain here and I will return to my family. If not, we leave now. He has already put more distance between him and us than I think either of you would have expected, and we will need to be quick if we wish to catch him."

* * *

"_Tell me, young one, my little pet, do you have any comprehension of what you are?" Ogol asked, combing his fingers through Firyavaryar's hair. He shuddered, trying to pull himself free, but the hand not tangling his hair held tight to the collar, keeping him in place. "I can see how great you will become even now, when you are still small and awkward and not yet fully developed. You have some growth yet to do, but you will only be finer by then."_

_Varyar swallowed down the revolt of his stomach, turning his head away. Ogol twisted the strands he held, pulling them back with enough strength to hurt. He should not be capable of feeling any further pain, not after all that Ogol and the orcs had already done, but somehow each tug on his hair was agonizing._

"_I knew when I saw you in that town that you were ready to be taken that day," Ogol went on, his hand moving down to Varyar's neck. "If you had only been easier to trick..."_

_Firyavaryar frowned. He did not understand. If he had been foolish enough to go with Ogol when he approached him in the guise of a trader, that would have changed nothing. He would still be a prisoner here, and for some reason, Ogol seemed to think that he wanted an elf for the leader of his army, and that meant he wanted someone with intelligence, not someone that could be tricked._

"_It would have changed nothing. Why say that as if it would?"_

"_If you had come with me, if I had fooled you, if you had been willing that day, your mother would still be alive." Ogol tightened his hold on Varyar's neck. "Tell me—was your short escape worth her life? You are here now, as you would have been if you'd come with me, but she would not have died. Nor would your father have faded with her in his weakness."_

_Firyavaryar shook his head, refusing to cry. He had already done that, and he was done with tears. They did not change anything. Ogol was lying. He was evil, and he was lying. He had not killed his mother just so that he could take Varyar. His mother would not have lived if Firyavaryar had gone with him. She was always going to die._

"_You could have saved her, if you'd come to me willingly."_

"_No. You would have killed her. And my father. You wanted them dead. I know you did."_

_Ogol laughed. "Oh, you are such a young fool, pet. You do amuse me with your flawed reasoning. You always think you know what I want when you do not."_

_Varyar tried to get his hair out of the monster's fingers. "You know you couldn't have me or my siblings if our parents were alive. Do not think you can trick me. I know you think you can use me, and you have, but you do not need to lie to me about my parents. You are only making me hate you more, and that is a stupid strategy, even for you."_

_Ogol jerked on the chain, and Varyar choked. He found himself wanting Ogol just to finish it, to kill him. He was tired of the talk and the games and the pain. He would welcome death. He had wanted it since he watched his mother die._

"_Do not defy me, young one. You have not learned that lesson yet, but you will."_

_Firyavaryar shook his head. Ogol could kill him if he wanted. Varyar would not serve him. "My siblings... will... fade."_

_Ogol yanked him up, studying him. "You think you can fool me now? I am not amused. I am not an idiot. Your siblings are fine. You would have brought them to me already if you thought they were in trouble."_

"_You _are _an idiot. You killed my parents. My siblings are alone. My mother and I were in that village for supplies. Food. My siblings are alone, without food, without my father. You are killing them by keeping me here. Starvation might not kill them, but they are also grieving. They will not survive both the lack of food and the grief. They will fade just as my father did. They will die."_

"_Do not think you can trick me." _

"_You think that I am lying? Do you think we _wanted _to trade with the _edain? _We would not have gone there if we had an alternative. I do not care if you believe me. I want you to let me fade. I do not want to outlive them."_

_Ogol grunted. "You will not."_

"_Then you will let me die?"_

"_No."_

* * *

Firyavaryar jerked awake, shuddering, unable to force his eyes open. He should not be afraid. Opening his eyes meant ending the nightmares and seeing the truth of where he was. He did not need to fear that. It should be a relief, but with his mind in this state, with his paranoia, he did not know that he would open his eyes to find himself out of the nightmare.

That fear was controlling him, and he had to end that. He had to stop being so weak.

"I was beginning to think that you would not awaken, _gildin."_

Varyar turned toward the voice, eyes reluctantly open. This was not the same nightmare that he had been in before he woke, but he would not consider this any kind of pleasant dream, not even a relief to be awake. "What are you doing here?"

"There are those who should not travel alone. You are one of them."

"And you think I should welcome your company? You are a fool, wizard. Remember, I told you that you were not forgiven," Varyar said, wincing as he tried to move his arm. He must have had a real waking dream—must have gone into it while he was still running—because he did not know how he had managed to hurt himself.

"I did not come because I sought forgiveness." Mithrandir sat down next to him. "The dreams are more frequent now."

"They are not all dreams."

"No, they are not," the Istari agreed. "A great many of them are memories, enough of them to confuse you."

"I do not know when I am awake and when I am not," Firyavaryar said. Even now, it seemed doubtful. Others might call this a vision, but he had never thought much of them, not even when Ogol forced him to look into the _palant__í__r._ He did not want to see the future or the past. That was never a gift he had possessed, needed, or wanted. "How did you find me? Do not say coincidence."

"Indeed, it was not. I have been seeking you."

"Yet your abilities have never permitted you to track me. Do not claim that has changed because I no longer carry poison. You could not track me before Draugminaion had me, and you cannot track me now. You did not even notice when you approached me sitting in Lothanlass' branches."

Mithrandir nodded. "I have not gained any great ability, nor is it any easier to seek you now than ist was before."

"Nostalion is not with you. How did you find me? And why were you looking for me?"

"The lady Galadriel told me she had seen us together. I thought she meant the conversation where you told me I was not forgiven, but she said you were alone and in need of answers. Perhaps more than answers."

"I do not want you to protect me. Nor could you if it is my mind alone that causes me this trouble."

"I have not offered to protect you."

Varyar grimaced, trying to rise. "You said I should not travel alone, but I have no interest in traveling with you. You have found me, though I still doubt how or if this is happening, and that is all you need do. You do not have the answers I need or the company I would seek—if I sought any, but I do not."

Mithrandir caught his arm. "You intended to visit Lórien for answers, but I do not think you will make it there in this state. Shadowfax has consented to bear you there, and you would not need worry about your passage into the woods or those you have left behind."

"That is untrue. I should always worry that my actions will cause harm to those I leave or that some calamity might befall them when I am too far away to aid them. I may have overestimated my own importance. I do not know that I am enough to draw the enemy's attention away from those that I would protect. I cannot claim that I am that valuable."

"You do not think so? Ogol has seemed rather obsessed with you over these centuries. Why do you think that is?"

"He wanted me as a pet."

Mithrandir studied him. "Do you think that is the only reason?"

"Are you going to suggest that he is somehow my true father? Or that he imagines that he is capable of some kind of sentiment for me?" Firyavaryar snorted. "No. He is not. From the way my mother died, I can assure you that she would not have survived his attentions to be my father, and even if she had—in my veins flows the blood of Erurainon and Calathiel. They are the only parents I would ever acknowledge."

"The parents of our hearts can be the only ones that matter," Mithrandir said. "It would not change the sentiment on Ogol's part."

Varyar laughed. "Is it the pipeweed that makes you such a fool? Ogol is not capable of any kind of sentiment."

"Perhaps not. That does leave the question, then, of what he wants you for, why you have always been necessary for his schemes."

"Because I am pretty?"

Mithrandir laughed. "Come, _gildin. _I think we can find a better answer than that."

* * *

"Legolas?"

"What?"

"Is it the sea longing or something else that makes you almost fall off your horse?" Estel asked, and Legolas grimaced. He had not thought he was so distracted—and he could not blame his inattention on the long ride or many hours they had spent following Nostalion and Varyar's invisible trail. They had not been riding for long, nor was he easily fatigued. They were not close to the sea. The call of the gulls should have been too distant for him to hear. He should not be like this.

He did not know why he was, either. He had not dreamed of the sea last night. He had not felt much of the longing, not when he was worried over Ogol's survival, Firyavaryar's absence, and Estel's insistence on going after him.

Legolas should have known that chasing after Varyar was inevitable. He had done it before, and he would do it again. He had tried to tell himself that he did not need to go, that he should not go, but Estel had been right—he would have gone. He could not leave Varyar out there alone even if Ogol was dead. His friend needed him, and he would help him.

"I am sorry, Estel. I cannot say why I am so distracted. It is not that I wish to be, nor should I be," Legolas told him. "This is not the most arduous journey we have ever taken. We ran harder and on our own feet when we were trying to find Merry and Pippin. We rode through the paths of the dead, riding hard to war. Even our first time following Varyar was more difficult and on foot. Nostalion has not kept us at the punishing pace that we know that he could and has done in the past—"

"I imagine that soon enough we will receive a lecture about how we talk too much again."

"That is because Nostalion and Varyar can both function as mutes—and they have a way of speaking without words that I find rather... enviable. Not even you and I possess that, _mellon-nín, _and I wish that we did, for I think we might have avoided much of our misunderstandings if we had that as well as the words we said. We let those words come between us, and I do regret that," Legolas said. He shook his head. "We should not have let that go on for as long as it did."

"We both had our reasons—or thought we did."

Legolas decided not to continue discussing that subject. They had forgiven each other, but they could fall back into that trap and old bad patterns if they were not careful, and he did not want to fight with Estel again, ever. "Do you think we are creating shadows now? Sauron was defeated, but we have not known peace in our lifetimes. As much as we wanted to bring it to Gondor and Ithilien, we may be unable of coping with it ourselves. We know battle. We know defending our land. Our minds do not rest. As soon as we had a chance to run off after a threat, we took it."

He watched as Estel thought about his words. "You think that is the only reason we went after your friend? That we are chasing trouble as we did when we were younger? That we used our bad dreams and Firyavaryar's paranoia as excuses?"

"Perhaps not the only reason, but it might be the reason underneath all of the reasons why we left."

"Do you ever think that perhaps you question your reasons too much?"

Legolas turned to face Nostalion, surprised to hear him joining their conversation. "Someone else might ask you if you do not question your own enough."

"My reasons are and always have been simple. I do what I have to for family. That needs no questions."

"Doesn't it?" Estel asked, making the dangerous choice of choosing to continue the conversation. "You were their assassin. They made you kill for them. Then you met Firyavaryar and stopped. You must have questioned it then or you would not have done that."

"Firyavaryar proved that family could offer protection as well as need it. Nothing to question in that," Nostalion answered. He gave Estel a dark look, but he did not react with the violence Estel's inquiry could have provoked. "He is moving faster now. If you wish to find him, you need to stop talking."

"Or you could just admit that you know where he's going and take us there," Estel suggested, and Nostalion gave him a slight smile as he turned away, urging his own mount forward.

* * *

"I have heard much of you, Firyavaryar."

"I think I have heard more about you, Lady Galadriel," Varyar told her, aware that Mithrandir had left them alone. He was not ignorant of the elven archers waiting in the trees, but he did not know why they were bothering to pretend to give them privacy. "You are older, with a much greater legend, and prettier as well."

She laughed. It had one of those melodious sounds, but he thought Sérëdhiel's voice was still finer, and while others would argue it, he believed she was more beautiful, too.

"You can stop trying to speak in my head. I know you are trying because it aches, but I still cannot hear you," he told her. She did not so much as smile in acknowledgment of his words, turning to walk away from him.

He glanced toward the archers. They would stop him if they did not think that he should be following her, and he did not know that he cared if they did. She seemed to be leading him somewhere, and he could choose not to be led, but he had come for answers. He would not get them by staying where he was. That was what made him leave his family behind in Ithilien. Cowardice would not stop him from getting _something_ out of this ill-advised journey.

She descended the stone steps, going down into the overgrown fountain. He had never quite understood why other elves enjoyed living where the forest had almost overtaken their homes, making them more ruins than shelters. He might sleep next to an _onod, _but that did not mean that he liked it.

"Will you look into the pool?"

Firyavaryar watched her, wary. He did not trust the lady of the woods—he did not trust many people at all, but his experiences with Ogol had taught him to very cautious with once that could be considered witches or sorcerers, and he did not want to encounter other Istari. He did believe that was what Ogol must have been, a Maia corrupted somehow into the evil he had become, and they all could be corrupted, beings with that kind of power—even ones without it could be—but it seemed to happen more frequently with those who already knew great power. After a time, what they had was not enough, and so they twisted themselves in their need to have more.

"Do you already know what I am going to see?"

"It shows many things—ones that were, ones that are, and ones that may yet come to pass."

"I did not ask what I would see—I asked if you knew what it was," he said, wondering why he had convinced himself to come here. He did not need to be tricked by anyone else, and he knew the answers that he wanted were not here. Even if the _elleth _could tell him what bargain he had made with Ogol—one he still did not believe he had made—that was not the answer he needed most.

"Do you think if I know that then you have no reason to look? I should tell you instead of letting you see for yourself?"

He smiled. "Are you thinking to fool me, or did I somehow fool you? You know what I mean—can you control the pool? Will you show me what you think I should see? Or is it truly not yours to direct?"

"Ah," she said, lifting the pitcher over the pool. "The things we see are not of our own choosing. Were it otherwise, we would know nothing but peace."

He shook his head. "You, perhaps, but I do not think myself that deserving of peace. Why else would I have been denied it all this time?"

Galadriel studied him. "Do you seek peace, young Firyavaryar? Or is it something else that separates you from those you love?"

"You think that I now seek Ogol only for revenge? That I would hurt him for what he did to my parents, to Legolas, and to me?"

"Do you?"

"Did you lie about that _elleth _that supposedly survived Ogol?"

"No."

He nodded, though he still tried to find another way to challenge her when his eyes skimmed over the pool, and he cursed as he saw the water change.

* * *

_Calathiel paced the room, her skirt dragging against the floor as she did. The finery was nearly ruined by now, as ruined as she was, and she wanted to rip it all off, but then she would have to endure worse from the orcs than their unpleasant words and stares. She hated feeling them through the fabric of her dress. Without it would be worse._

_She heard something moving across the room and shuddered. It was back, that thing. It sounded male, but she thought it was more monster than person. "What do you want?"_

"_Do you assume that you can bargain with me?"_

"Sevig thû úan. _You _are_ a monster. There is no bargaining with evil. I only want to know what you intend to do to me. You cannot pretend to have no purpose, even if it is only your own pleasure in watching me die. I do not believe that is what you want, or I would already be dead."_

"_You assume I want something from you. I do not. You are... almost inconsequential. What you are is nothing compared to what you can create, and that is what I am interested in," the voice answered, moving closer to her. "You must understand, _elleth, _that you only matter if the right variables align themselves. Some of them I can arrange—some of them you already made possible—but you are not half as necessary as your offspring will be."_

_She backed against the wall. She hated the darkness, though she knew why it used that against her. The dark was where fear grew. Even the smallest of children knew that. They would cry out and call for their parents. They would beg and plead for assistance. She could have only one consolation now, here, in this darkness. "I have no children. And I will not bond. I will never bond with anyone and there will be no children—"_

"_You are amusing, this quaint idea of love that you have."_

"_Love? You threatened my possible children. Why are you speaking of love? This is not about love. You are a monster. If you wish to kill me, do it. I am not going to let you scare me by threatening to violate me."_

"_I meant your love for Erurainon."_

_She swallowed. She had not spoken to anyone of her admiration—and it was only admiration, not more, not love—for him. They had only interacted three times, and it was nothing. She was not a foolish child. She knew better than to believe that was anything more than casual acquaintance. "I do not love Erurainon. I do not know him."_

"_Oh, you do. Soon you will know him very well. I am told that it helps not to be alone," the monster went on. "You will have company in your imprisonment. I hope you enjoy it. Being elves, you may be able to spend close to eternity together."_

_Calathiel did not want to be alone, but she did not want anyone else imprisoned with her—not Erurainon, he was the best of his family and so gentle. No one else need suffer. She did not understand why she was, but she would not agree to let the monster draw in another. This was a taunt. A threat to make her beg or plead or whatever this thing wanted, but she would not let it have what it wanted. She would never give it that. _

"_Why would you do that?"_

"_Bonding is an interesting process. Some say it is more than emotional, that it is physical. It is so strong that pairs sense each other's pain. They die when their partner dies. How strong do you think one would be if it was forged in here?"_

_She frowned. "Are we only an experiment to you?"_

"_You are... convenient, but not necessary. A union between the two of you could produce something useful, but you two separately have very little value. I can use one of your sisters if you fail to give me the result I desire. He has siblings as well. That is the trouble with elves. Everyone lives so long that even having few children does not make for small families. I can use almost anyone I want. I chose you and Erurainon, but I will find others if I need to."_

"_You said this was about children. If you want our children—"_

"_Oh, yes. I would be pleased if you gave me a son. He would be very valuable indeed."_

* * *

The water cleared, becoming nothing more than an innocuous bowl on a pillar fit for birds to bathe in. The slight ripples showed him a distorted reflection, one he did not need to see. Firyavaryar lifted his head, glaring across the clearing at Galadriel. "I think I know why they call you a witch."

The lady of the light remained impassive, not bothered by the hatred he felt or threatened by his presence. He was tempted to do something to change that, but he knew he would not leave Lórien alive if he tried to harm her. Nor did he believe he would be all that successful in his attempt.

"Do you doubt what you saw?" Galadriel asked. "You have known for centuries that your parents were prisoners of your monster before you were. Why is this so difficult to accept?"

He laughed. "Oh, there are many reasons. There is my mind and how little of it is left. There is Ogol and how he would play his games and if he were capable of it, he would be sending me these dreams and that... vision to unsettle me, to torment me. There is the fact that you are, in many ways, what I just called you—a witch. There is also the possibility that none of this is real. Why should I believe I could ever have gotten free of Ogol? Perhaps I am still there now. I know the monster. I know that he would never let me go, so how could I be free?"

"By making another bargain, I suppose."

"I never made any bargains."

"Yes, you did."

Firyavaryar shook his head. He did not have any leverage. He could not have bargained, not for himself, not for anyone. Galadriel must have believed the lies of the _elleth _that supposedly escaped, or she was trying to make him believe it.

"I was supposed to sail, but I could not make myself go, not even with Haldir's death. I see now that I was meant to wait, to have this moment that I have wanted for over a century."

Firyavaryar turned, looking behind him with a frown. He should not recognize that voice, not when he did not think she was real or that he could trust his own memory, but when someone screamed beside him, crying out in agony, when she begged him for help, her voice was almost impossible to forget, as was her face.

"I wanted to thank you."

Varyar shook his head. "No. You cannot thank me. I did not do anything. I have—I am insane, yes. That is all anyone can—"

"Your eyes are different, but I know your face. I know your voice. I know you are the one that helped me. He called you his pet." She pressed her eyes shut. "He asked you if you would trade your family for me when you asked him to let me go."

That was true, and she should not know that if she was not the one who had been there, but he did not trust that. He knew he should not. Her story had some details, but that did not make her the right one. Even her face and voice could be some kind of trick.

"If that were true, why would you thank me?"

"You would not trade your family for me," she said, stepping forward, touching his arm. "That is not as ignoble as you want to make it now. Trading your family for me would not have been right. I would not have wanted that."

Varyar looked over at the lady of the woods, but she had slipped away when the other _elleth _distracted him. If she was a part of this, he did not know that he would have been able to see it in her face or know from her voice. "Quit lying. You were not there. You could not have been. I had no leverage to work with, nothing to offer him in exchange. He wanted my family. I would not give him that. I did not. I gave him nothing, and he killed you. You are dead. I am insane, seeing dead people, but I am not the one who freed you. That would have been impossible. It did not happen."

She lowered her head. "I imagine it is easier to believe that than to remember the bargain that you did make with him."

"You are not telling me that I offered him my family. I would never do that."

"No, that is not what you did." She stood on her toes, whispering into his ear, and when she explained the bargain he had made, his mind truly broke.


	8. Truth, Lies, and Somewhere In-Between

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Eight  
Word Count:** 3,344**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** This is what I meant by the story starting in Lórien, at least the part at the end. Still... I should admit that I goofed and didn't make it clear that Gimli was with them in the last chapter. I tried to fix that here, but I messed up, and I admit that.

If I let myself, I'd probably go into another rambling thing about not continuing this, but I am trying to restrain myself, so...

* * *

**Truth and Lies and Something In-Between**

"_Let her go."_

"_Why should I?" Ogol asked, studying him. "If you do not care for her, why do you want her free? She is nothing to you, pet. Ignore her. I shall play with her as I wish, and you cannot stop it."_

_Firyavaryar met the scared eyes of the _elleth_, seeing the plea in them. She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but she collapsed, and he thought he saw blood coming out of her lips. He turned to Ogol. "She is dying anyway. Release her. Let her die with her people."_

"_Tell me," Ogol began, twisting the chain in his hands. "Would you trade your family for her?"_

_Varyar was glad she was not looking at him now. "No."_

"_I did not hear you. What did you say?"_

"_No," Firyavaryar repeated. He could not bring himself to do that. He had promised to protect his family, and he would not give them to Ogol, not even for this innocent _elleth. _He could not trade their lives for hers. He did not have any way to save her._

"_Yet you want her free," Ogol said, pulling him closer. "Tell me what you will do if I let her go."_

_Varyar struggled, not just for air or freedom from this hold, but for a way to think. He did not know if he had any way of convincing Ogol to let her go. Firyavaryar would never give the monster his family, and if that was the price—it could not be paid. She would die. "You will not let her go. I could offer you everything I have, but you would just say that is what I owe you as you own me. You will not let me go. Nor will you let her go."_

"_I could, if you offered me an acceptable alternative."_

"_I told you—I will not give you my family."_

"_You could. I will have them soon enough," Ogol said, expelling hot, foul breath onto Varyar's cheek. "Or you can try to offer me something else. I would enjoy that."_

"_I will not play games with you."_

"_Hmm. Pity," Ogol said, touching his cheek. "I like our games. Still, even if you are unwilling to play, I have others to play with. I wonder if this _elleth _would give me your family if I sent her to find them. Or perhaps I should ask her what else she would do to live."_

"_You will not get my family from her, either."_

_Ogol nodded. "I am certain you hid them well enough that she would not find them. I doubt she would have agreed to it, either. No, I think that her release would have to come from you. You have something you can offer me. You only have to find it, and she will be free."_

"_You lie. I am not playing. Just kill her. End her suffering. And mine."_

_Ogol laughed, and Varyar tried to turn away, but the monster held him and whispered in his ear. "I know what you can give me for her freedom, pet. Shall I tell you what it is?"_

_Firyavaryar flinched. He wanted to free her if he could, but he did not want to give Ogol what he wanted. He did not want to play. "No."_

"_Liar. You want to set her free. I will tell you how it can be done, and since it will not cost you your family, you will agree," Ogol said, laughing again. Varyar cursed him, though he knew he would likely agree to end the torment for her. He did not know if he could kill her himself, but he thought that was what was going to be asked of him now._

* * *

"_Gildin?"_

Firyavaryar did not open his eyes. He refused to look at the wizard. He did not want to acknowledge anything at all. He could not accept the words that _elleth _had spoken. He would not. She was a liar. That was the only truth that was possible. She should be dead. He should even have killed her himself, though he did not remember doing it. He remembered clearly the moment when he knew it would be asked of him, but the rest of his mind was so fragmented that he could not find what had happened afterward.

"I can see her words disturbed you," Mithrandir said, sitting next to him without invitation.

"How did she fool both of you? You are supposed to be two of the wisest beings in Middle Earth. Powerful. With gifts that the rest of us could not hope to understand or imitate, and yet she has you both deceived. How is that possible?"

"You think us deceived?" Galadriel asked, and Varyar almost glared at her, but he did not want to acknowledge her presence, did not want her to stay. "Why must Gwilwilethel have acted deceitfully? Is it not better that she survived?"

"No."

"I do not believe you mean that," Mithrandir told him. "Though perhaps you have wanted to be, you are not without empathy. You feel much more than you want to, and you would have wanted her suffering to end."

"You know I could not save her. He would have asked me to kill her if I wanted that." Firyavaryar rubbed at his forehead. "She lives either because she herself made the bargain with Ogol or because she is not the _elleth _that was there. I did not save her. I did not help her get free. I made no bargain—there was none to make."

Galadriel turned her head and studied him. "Are you afraid that you made the same bargain as your parents did?"

He snorted. "Do you see me bonded with an _elleth _and pretending at raising elflings?"

"Is that what he asked of you?"

Varyar shuddered, hating himself for it. "No. That is not the bargain she claims I made, nor is it one I would have made. Family first. Always. I would never trade my own offspring and bond for some stranger."

"Then what is this terrible price you paid?"

"Istari, you are a fool who does not listen. I paid none—I made no bargain," Firyavaryar insisted. He would not accept that he had. "I do not know if she did. I would not think that she would not. She was desperate. Ogol made people that way. I know how that felt, and I know how willing she might have been to give him anything for her freedom."

"Yet she has always said that it was your sacrifice, not hers, that allowed her to return to us," Galadriel told him. She reached over and placed her hand under Varyar's chin, getting him to look at her. "Do you doubt your own valor?"

"I have none. There is nothing to doubt," he said, pulling free from her. "I had no leverage to bargain with, and what I could have used, what she said I did—No. She lies. She made the bargain with Ogol—if that is even her. I no longer know."

"You have suffered," Galadriel said, giving him a look full of pity. "There is no ease in my words for you, no respite from the torment that you cannot face—I have known Gwilwilethel all her life except for the time when she was with the one you call Ogol. There is no deception in her. She is the same _elleth _that left us—though wounded in spirit as much as others that you know."

"Do not compare that liar to Eruaistaniel," Varyar warned. He did not know why they defended that _elleth,_ and he would not tolerate the comparison to one he knew was worth defending. "She is not like her. This Gwilwilethel bargained with evil. Never in Eruaistaniel's weakest moment did she do that. She is a good friend and finds it within herself to love even after what she suffered. There is no comparison between them."

"I wonder if you know—"

"I do not care for you to tell me more of your 'pet,'" Varyar told the witch. "I am done here. I do not want to hear more."

The Lady of the Light turned to Mithrandir. He nodded to her, and Varyar figured she was speaking to the wizard in his mind. He started to rise. He would not stay here. He did not want to hear more lies, and he did not know why they were trying to make him believe them.

"Did you not come for answers?"

"Answers, yes. Not lies. I have had enough of them."

Galadriel looked at him. "And what will you do, young _Gildin, _when you find it is the truths you cannot face and not the lies of another?"

"Honestly, I do not know. There is some mercy in death, I think, but it is one I am denied, and I do not think that I will be given it. Ogol would not allow it," Varyar said, grimacing. He shook his head. "I think he must be alive. If she bargained with him—if I did—he is alive. He is alive because I am."

Mithrandir grunted. "We have feared that since your fall."

"I did not bind my life to his to keep him alive. If he managed to do that, it was not with my consent no matter what freedom could have been achieved by it."

The wizard reached over, pushing Varyar's sleeve up his arm. "Those markings may have been a part of that."

Firyavaryar stared at his arm. The skin was bare this time, but that did not mean that the markings were gone or that Ogol was. "Then if he is bound to me... If I live because he does and the same is true of him, then... Then I think I need to die."

* * *

"I feel like poking you and telling you to ask."

Legolas laughed, turning to his friend with a smile. "Is the mighty king afraid to ask the assassin why he stopped? Surely you are not afraid of him when your valor is unquestioned and you know you can stand against the mightiest of squirrels."

Estel gave him a dark look, but Legolas could feel the dwarf's rumbling laugh against his back as well as hear it. He had actually missed the dwarf's grumbling while he slept, as he had managed to do for most of their journey. Gimli had been so quiet and so often asleep that Legolas almost thought perhaps the assassin was drugging him somehow, though he had yet to see Nostalion do anything.

Their guide kept his distance from them, sleeping on the edge of the camp if he slept at all, avoiding any campfires and eating little. Legolas had not concerned himself with the elf's behavior before, but as more time passed and they drew closer to Lórien, he had felt his unease growing great enough to compete with the call of the sea.

Traveling so far had been without incident, almost enough to make them all believe that they had left Ithilien for no reason. Legolas knew that the guilt would have settled in if anyone allowed themselves to think about it—or if they had not seen the slight signs of agitation in their guide. This time it was more overt, causing them all to halt their mounts because he had stopped in front of them. Most times, when asked about someone, Nostalion could reach out his senses without pause, but this time he had stayed in one place for long enough to make the others nervous.

"Someone's got to ask, laddie. Sending the elf isn't cowardice. It's practical. He'll survive."

Legolas looked at Gimli, and the dwarf grunted. Estel laughed this time. "It is true, Legolas. Not only are you an elf with better reflexes than us, but you are also Firyavaryar's friend. Nostalion is loyal to him. He won't harm you."

"He should have heard us talking by now," Legolas said, eyes returning to the Avari, who almost appeared to be sleeping. "It is unlike him not to interrupt us."

"If Firyavaryar was in trouble, Nostalion would have hurried us on," Estel said, and Legolas nodded, though he was not as comforted by those words as he would have liked. "I do not know why he stopped, but he would not have stayed here if his _gwador _was hurt or dying."

"That is true, but I am not the only one wondering why he is not moving at all now."

"Might be giving his friend time to avoid us," Gimli said, and they both turned to him with a frown. "Why not? Aragorn thought that elf knew all along where his friend was, didn't need no special sense to tell him, and yet he didn't take us there like he did. Maybe now that we're close, he's delaying us so that his friend can escape again."

Legolas frowned. "I do not know why he would do that. We did not leave to chase Varyar all through Middle Earth. If Nostalion did not think we would find him, he would not have led us this far. I know they have concealed things from us before, but I do not think this is—Why would Nostalion leave his son and Sérëdhiel only to trick us to wandering? It is not like him or Varyar."

"Do you think something is interfering with his ability to sense Firyavaryar?"

"Bah," Gimli grumbled. "Even if it was, we know where he was going. To Lórien. To the lady."

Legolas smiled. "I know you want to see the lady, Gimli, but I do not think that was why Varyar went there."

"He went for the _elleth _you told him he freed from Ogol," Nostalion said. "It would seem that he found her."

"And that has caused him harm?"

The assassin frowned. "I do not know if harm is an accurate description. I do not get visions, just a sense of where someone is and how they are feeling, their condition."

Legolas nodded. "And Varyar's condition?"

"Poor. Worse than before."

* * *

"I do not think killing you is necessary."

Firyavaryar looked at the wizard, tempted to laugh. "Do you suppose you truly could, were I connected to Ogol in that way? I doubt it."

"I regret now that we did not make more of an effort to understand what Ogol's interest in you was and what he intended to use you and your family for. Sauron has long dominated the thoughts and fears of this land, and that led us to overlook other threats, ones that grew in the shadow of the shadow," Mithrandir said. He grimaced. "Ogol was hidden away all during that time, careful and patient, and what he planned for you remains unknown."

"He wanted an army."

"Yes," Galadriel agreed, "but how was he going to get that through you?"

Firyavaryar sighed. "I do not know. I would not lead others to him, and I would not give him my family and I would not have children of my own. He must have been lying about that, too."

"Perhaps not. You know that he had your parents."

"I am not like them. I would not take the bargain they supposedly did." Firyavaryar shook his head. "It all is meaningless if Ogol is dead. If he is, then his reasons are unimportant. My mind will not be restored by knowing them—I do not know that anything can undo the damage there. I came for an answer I knew I would not find, and I see no point in continuing."

Galadriel put her hand under his chin again. "You have already learned more than you knew before, and some answers are only the beginning of more questions. You have them now. Will you seek the truth or continue to hide from it?"

"You do not understand," he said, pushing her hand away. "If your _elleth _is not lying, then I only have more reasons not to want to continue at all. I do not want this truth—it has already broken me. It will do so again. Perhaps I am more of a coward than I thought, but I cannot accept that as truth, and I will not seek more answers down that path."

"_Gildin—"_

"No," Varyar said, turning away from both of them. "If you seek answers, find them yourselves. My own memories are too confused to hold them, and I will not be misled by you again, wizard. I am going. I should not have left my family, not for this. If I had drawn Ogol from hiding, that would be different, but I did not. I should not have come."

"You are too upset to leave. You should not be alone. Rest here for a night before you go. You cannot undertake that journey without assistance."

Varyar laughed. "Do you honestly think that Nostalion is not nearby? That Legolas did not ask him to lead him to me when I left? I do not. I know they are close, and I will not be alone for long. I will have more company than I want."

They did not stop him as he walked away. He did not think they would. They had not intervened before, had not helped when it would have mattered, and for all their supposed wisdom, they still knew nothing. He knew somehow they must have been fooled. That _elleth _must have lied, and with her lies, she had tricked both Mithrandir and Galadriel. She would have needed help for that, and Varyar knew that had come from only one possible source: Ogol. She must have bargained with him and gotten her freedom somehow, but what could she have offered him?

Ogol was able to torture Varyar more by allowing him to believe that she had died. He would be forever condemned by knowing that she had been taken, suffered, and died for nothing, for the accident of being near him when Ogol came for him. With that truth undeniable, he would have no reason to use the _elleth _later to tell him lies and torment him that way. So why was she alive? She could not be alive.

"_You see? Everything has an end. It has a reason, a purpose, and once it has been used, it is easily discarded. Without a purpose, though, why bother allowing it to live at all?"_

"_Then you killed her?"_

_Ogol laughed. "You amuse me, pet. You know what happened to her. You know what you did."_

_Varyar tensed. He did not—he had not killed her. He had turned away, he had been weak, but he had not done it. He could not have that blood on his hands. He had not murdered her. That was not him. That was Ogol._

_It had to be Ogol._

_If it wasn't..._

_Ogol's laughter continued to mock him, and Firyavaryar tried to get away from it, shaking his head and pulling on the chain at his neck. He would rather have killed himself. He had not killed her. That was not possible._

_Only it was._

Varyar stopped, leaning against a tree and wincing. He did not understand. If he had killed her, then he should remember that, he should know, and she would not be able to fool anyone, no matter how great her resemblance was to the one who was lost. She was not the same _elleth, _not if he had killed her—but how could he have done that?

His mind was shattered, yes, but he would not have killed her, not even to end her suffering.

"I did not kill her."

"Didn't you?"

"No. If I had, she would not be walking around this forest, wizard. You are still a—" Varyar turned, sick with the realization that he was talking to the wrong Maia. He shook his head, unwilling to believe it. "She is dead. So are you. This is..."

"Impossible? Only a nightmare? Oh, pet, sometimes you are such a fool. Amusing, but still a fool."


	9. Lost in Lórien

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Nine  
Word Count:** 3,473**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** This fought me. It did not want to be written, and then when I had it done, it had to be redone. The part with Nostalion was the only part that seemed to go well, but even it had to be edited, and I was more than a little frustrated, ready to forget the whole thing, considered giving up writing altogether again (it was not just this story, though this one was not helping matters any.) I really am not in a state to judge the quality of this at the moment, but I hope it at least does its job of moving forward the others during Varyar's absence.

And I tried to address an overdue conversation when Legolas speaks to Gandalf, but I doubt it did it much justice. *sigh*

* * *

**Lost in Lórien  
**

"Blasted elves. Not a bit of sense in the one of them."

"Excuse me?" Legolas asked, turning to look at the dwarf. Aragorn held back a smile at the two of them, trying to stay alert. He knew that the archers of Lórien would find them before they went much further, and even if he was not concerned with their arrival, their journey was far from a pleasant one. They had known lighter times when they escorted Frodo and the ring. Nostalion's presence kept them from being as they had been then, a dark shadow and constant, gloomy reminder of their task.

"I think you know what he means," Aragorn said, looking around, his hand on his sword. "Our guide is missing again."

Legolas grimaced. It was not the first time that Nostalion had slipped away from their company, as he had withdrawn from them several times since informing them that Firyavaryar's condition worsened, and whatever he might sense now, he did not share it with anyone.

"No sense," Gimli repeated, shaking his head. Legolas looked at him and then the trees. Aragorn did not think the prince's elven eyes would have any greater success in locating the assassin than his own had. Nostalion did not want to be found. "We get where we're going, and he leaves. Leaves when he should know that not everyone is welcome in these woods. Bah. I hope they shoot him for trespassing. He should have stayed with us. We're welcome here. He might not be, but we are."

Aragorn did not know how true that statement was. The shadow of Mordor was gone, and they did not bring great evil with them this time, but he had never come and gone as he pleased in the woods of Lórien, even as the adopted son of Elrond, brother to the grandsons of Galadriel herself. He had still had to persuade Haldir to allow them to enter last time they were here, and he did not know how much would have changed even after Sauron's defeat.

"Perhaps he wished to avoid the polite civilities and even ceremonies that we will no doubt engage in when we meet those we have come to see. Varyar would have avoided as much of that as possible, and Nostalion would know that he would find his _gwador _on the outside of the company somewhere. If he is worried about him, he would seek him out first," Legolas said, and the dwarf grunted. Aragorn did not think his friend's logic was wrong. Nostalion neither cared for society or for company, and he would go find Firyavaryar before he would be bow to the lady of the woods.

"Still should have stayed with us. Those other elves won't like him wandering around on his own in this place."

"They may not, and I hope no harm comes to anyone because of his choice, but he would not be satisfied until he found Varyar, and I think it best that he does so quickly," Legolas said. He shook his head. "Perhaps we were all foolish to come on this journey. Varyar should have known not to go alone, and we should have known not to follow him."

Gimli studied him. "What's this now? An elf admitting a mistake?"

"Aren't you more concerned with him calling us all fools?" Aragorn asked, amused despite everything. Gimli frowned, and Legolas smiled for brief moment before his expression turned back to the worry they had all been feeling since Nostalion left them.

"Bah. Elves are too foolish to know what a fool is," Gimli said, bumping Legolas with his elbow as though nothing at all were wrong. "This one in particular."

"Gimli," Legolas began, "I do not think that now is—"

"I thought I should not look upon anything so fair again, but now I see her once more, and she is even fairer than I remember," Gimli said, and Aragorn smiled as he saw the way the dwarf stared at the Lady Galadriel on Lord Celeborn's arm. Legolas chuckled, but it did not last long.

"Welcome, friend Gimli," Galadriel said, and the dwarf seemed stunned. "And you, Legolas Thranduilion. Elassar. The presence of a king is a great honor."

"I think your presence would always be more of one, my lady," Aragorn said, bowing his head to her. She was the grandmother of his wife, great-grandmother of his son, and those things alone would make him honor her, but she was more than that—so much more.

"Flattery should make her blush, but I believe she knows that it is not flattery but her right to have such attention," Gandalf said, and Aragorn thought perhaps the Istari had gotten the wisest, fairest, and oldest of all the _elleth _left in Middle Earth to blush after all.

"Mithrandir would like to tease," Galadriel said, leaning against Celeborn. "To improve our spirits, perhaps, for morale would fall far if one were to dwell on the events of the recent past."

"It is good to see you, Aragorn, but I wonder if your presence here is wise," Gandalf began, and Aragorn frowned. Between his words and Galadriel's and the absence of Nostalion, his sense of unease was growing greater than any refuge Lórien could have provided and had done so in the past. "There has been some unrest of late, and your presence will continue it, I fear."

"You speak of Firyavaryar," Legolas began, watching the faces of the elder elves before him. "You have seen him?"

"Seen him and spoke to him. Come, young Thranduilion. We should speak."

* * *

"Varyar did not tell me why he left or what he sought here," Legolas said as he walked with Mithrandir away from the others. Gimli, he thought, would be content to do nothing more than stare at Galadriel while she spoke with Estel, and he thought that she would keep Estel for much longer than she needed—if she needed him at all—distracting both of them while Legolas was alone with the Istari. In part, it worried him, and yet he did not know if it was worry or something else that made him uneasy in the wizard's presence. "Do you know?"

"I do, but then I do not know that you wish to speak of that immediately. Do you?"

Legolas swallowed. "I should not allow myself to be distracted, but this is the first time we have been alone to speak of this matter, and I do not know that we would have another opportunity for this conversation later. I would like to know, before we discuss the other matters, why you did not tell me that Varyar lived, why no one did. His reasons I have, as I do Estel's, Elladan's, and Elrohir's, but yours and Galadriel's I do not."

"I cannot answer for her. Only for myself."

"I know. Will you answer for yourself?"

Mithrandir nodded. "I will give you the explanation that should have come when Firyavaryar was given the cure to his poison. We did not speak then, as you are aware, so you know, too, that I offered you no reason for my actions in withholding that cure."

"I heard your reasons from others then," Legolas said. "I understand them, and they did not anger me in the way they did his family. It... I have distance, I was raised on the journey, and I know you. I do not know that I agree completely with your choice, but I do understand it."

Mithrandir nodded. "I cannot say my choice was right, but I believed it was at the time. I knew that _Gildin _would be needed. I did not know exactly how—his path is still unclear despite what I have learned of him—and so I did not allow him to know of the cure. I did not speak of his survival for a similar reason."

"You thought he would not fulfill the part he was needed for if I knew he was alive?" Legolas frowned. "That is a poor answer. I preferred Estel's—they agreed I should not know that Varyar lived because he was preparing to die in battle. I do not understand yours."

"_Gildin _proved to me that I was wrong in my assessment of him." Mithrandir sighed. "During our last meeting, he accused me of believing that he worked for Ogol willingly."

"Did you think that? Honestly?" Legolas demanded. He shook his head. "I never could, not even in the darkest time right after he traded me to Ogol and I was being tortured. I was angry, I tried to believe it, and I was hurt enough that I came close to believing it, but I did not. In the end, I did not believe it, and that was how I was able to forgive him while we were still prisoners."

"I fear I lacked faith in _Gildin, _but that is not what concerns us now."

Legolas looked over at him with a frown. "You do not think so?"

"You think I need to trust him now?"

Legolas studied Mithrandir, uncertain what the Istari was truly speaking of under those words. He did not know what had happened since Firyavaryar had come to Lórien, but he was worried by the way Mithrandir had wanted to speak privately of all of this. "We all do."

"Yes, we might indeed have to place all our trust in Firyavaryar."

"You say that as if there is some reason to doubt him." Legolas folded his arms over his chest. "What makes you believe there is?"

"By his own admission, his mind is unstable, and he was not willing to trust the word of Galadriel when she told us that there was no deception in the _elleth _that he saved."

"Varyar thinks she lied, though?"

"He was most unwilling to accept whatever she told him."

"Then—Oh, no," Legolas said, turning back to the woods. "Where is she?"

* * *

"Legolas, what is it?" Aragorn asked as the elf rushed past them. "Legolas!"

"Daft elf," Gimli muttered, but he started chasing after their friend at the same time as Aragorn, following the elf deeper into the woods of Lórien and past its hidden, silent sentries. He did not have time to wonder if Galadriel had told them to stay in place and not intervene—someone _could _have stopped this, whatever it was, for how could there be an emergency in Lórien that Galadriel and Mithrandir did not know about?—yet they did not stop Legolas, nor had anyone seen Nostalion since their arrival.

Was the assassin who Legolas now sought? Or was he looking for Firyavaryar? What had caused him to run as he had? Surely no one had been harmed here, in Lórien, and even if they had, how would Legolas have known to go to them when no one else did?

"Should never have followed _any _elf anywhere," Gimli muttered, and Aragorn looked back at him, laughing as he continued to run. He did not quite have the speed of the elf, and he did not want to lose sight of him, even if he could probably track Legolas later.

All laughter was gone, though, when he and Gimli reached the small clearing where Legolas had stopped, edging closer with care to the elves already present in the glade. Aragorn had seen assassins work before, and he knew that Nostalion was capable of death in quick and painful ways, but he had not yet seen him attack anyone defenseless.

That _elleth _in his grasp was terrified, though, her mouth open in a silent scream, her eyes pleading with Legolas and the others for intervention. Aragorn would rather they had found Firyavaryar, that he was the cause and target of the assassin's anger.

"What did you tell him?" Nostalion demanded, lifting the terrified _elleth _into the air. "Answer me quickly, and do not bother lying."

"Nostalion—"

"What did you tell him?" Nostalion repeated, ignoring Legolas as he withdrew one of his blades. The _elleth _stared at it, trembling. "You have a simple choice: answer and no harm comes to you. Ignore me, and I will find another way to have the answers I seek."

She swallowed.

Aragorn moved forward. He would fight the assassin if he needed to, but he would not allow him to harm this _elleth._ "This is not necessary. You are breaking the peace of this land for no reason. She is only hesitant because you have frightened her. Let her go, give her a moment to breathe, and she will tell you."

Nostalion looked over at him with a darkness in his eyes that poisoned his voice as he spoke. "I am not one of your subjects for you to command, king, nor do I trust this one with anything that she might say. What she told Firyavaryar was enough to unbalance him more than I have ever seen—and I knew him just after Draugminaion finished with him. This one has done something to him, and she will face consequences for that."

"Please," Legolas began, reaching Aragorn's side, and though the king did not want to think it, he knew that Nostalion's loyalty to Firyavaryar should prevent him from doing anything to Legolas if the elf were to go another step forward. Aragorn almost pushed him into it. "I know you are loyal to Varyar, and I know that he was troubled when he learned of her survival, but this does not mean that you need to harm her."

"He is not here," Nostalion said. "This one knows why, and she will tell us. Now."

"Let her go," Aragorn ordered, hoping that they could still reason with the Avari and prevent disaster and bloodshed, though he did not think the assassin was acting at all reasonably, and there might be no way of avoiding a fight. "You may not be one of my subjects, and I may not have your assassin's training, but I will fight you. So will Legolas and Gimli and all of Lórien, including Galadriel. You need to stop this now."

"He told me he did not believe I had survived," the _elleth _whispered. "He said I could not have because he could not have aided me."

"That is true," Nostalion said, watching her. Aragorn wondered again just how much his ability told him about a person. Did he only assume she was lying or did he know? "And yet not all of your conversation. What did you tell him?"

"The truth," she said, tugging on Nostalion's arm to free herself. "I told him the bargain he made. He—It upset him, but then he got angry and refused to believe it. He pushed me away and left, saying something about death and lies and killing me himself."

Nostalion released her. Legolas swallowed, but he had to catch Gimli and prevent him from attacking the assassin before he could rush to the _elleth _and comfort her. Aragorn moved toward her, uncertain that there were words to calm her after something like this.

"Is Firyavaryar's mind completely gone?" Aragorn demanded. "And even if it is, is that worth what you've done to her?"

Nostalion grunted. Legolas set Gimli back and studied the other elf. "Can he actually believe that she is some kind of ghost and that he killed her? Or is he just suggesting she is some kind of... imposter?"

"I do not see what others are thinking when I track them."

"I know that, but you know Varyar's mind better than anyone other than his sister. Sérëdhiel would have an explanation—a theory—that she would share, and I would not even know where to begin with any of this. I do not know him well enough anymore. I cannot—what has this done to him?" Legolas asked. "You do know that. You said as much."

Nostalion turned away from them, and Aragorn frowned, leaving the _elleth _to rejoin the others. "You can't sense Firyavaryar now. That's why you're so angry with her, why you are worried about what she told him—you think he's dead."

The assassin shook his head. "I would know if he was dead."

"Then what is it you sense from him that has you so afraid?"

Nostalion shook his head. "I am not afraid. I know what will happen if Varyar fails to return to Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion—and Eruaistaniel. I am as prepared as anyone can be for such an eventuality."

"No one can truly prepare for that eventuality," Aragorn disagreed. "Even with a lingering illness, one does not make peace with death or with someone sailing to the Grey Havens. You know the way this will destroy your family. Losing Firyavaryar would grieve his siblings and your cousins and also wound you in ways you would not admit. He is your _gwador. _You could not lose him and still feel nothing."

"You assume such a thing is possible. You deal in absolutes where evil is evil and good is good and there is nothing between them," Nostalion said. He shook his head. "You could not accept Varyar because he did not fall within those categories, not evenly and cleanly as you wanted him to. He is not good and pure as you think elves should be, but he is not the evil you have always feared and fought against, either."

"We are all of us, I think, somewhere more in the middle than we realize," Legolas said. He stepped between Aragorn and Nostalion. "I believe that Estel is right about part of this, though. You say you know Varyar is not dead, yet you cannot sense him as you have before. Why not?"

"I do not know," the tracker answered, shaking his head. "Some things can interfere with my ability. If there was anyone who would know how to hide from it, I would believe it to be Firyavaryar."

"You do not think he is hiding from you."

Aragorn turned to Legolas, wondering what made him so certain of that. They had just learned that the _elleth _had unsettled Firyavaryar when she told him of his bargain, enough so that Nostalion had sensed that from him before they reached Lórien, so why wouldn't he hide? He was unbalanced and perhaps even suicidal. He would want to be alone.

"No."

Legolas nodded. "If something is interfering with your sense of him—wait. Varyar spoke of a band that Ogol placed around his neck, one he claimed made it impossible for him to fade."

"Yes," Nostalion agreed. "He had a chain he attached to it and used it to lead Varyar around as his pet. I have heard of this, but Varyar has said that the only reason it prevented him from fading was his own stupidity. He believed the monster when he should not have."

"I do not think the band could have prevented him from fading, no, but it _was _a means of control," Legolas insisted. "Nostalion, you know Firyavaryar. You know his strength. You know it would take a great deal to subdue him. To get to the point where he weakened Varyar's spirit and mind as he did—that would have taken more than a beating, more than any physical wound, though I am certain he did use those methods as well. I just know that he had to have used something else, some kind of drug or agent that would help in confusing Varyar's mind and keeping him weak and vulnerable. He may only have been a child the first time he was taken—"

"Not the second time, and Varyar did say he was never able to remove the band himself. If Ogol was to have a means of controlling him, it would have been that band."

"If Firyavaryar never mentioned the band being removed, then how did Ogol reapply this poison or whatever it was that he used to control him? He couldn't have," Aragorn said. They both might want to believe Ogol had control over the other elf, but he did not see how that band made it possible.

"Unless it were in the metal itself."

"Varyar was bred for a purpose," Nostalion agreed. "Perhaps part of that was with the intent of having a weakness to that particular metal as a means of control."

"So this band was made of a metal that Firyavaryar was allergic to or it was coated in something that kept him more docile," Aragorn said. He frowned. "Are you thinking that also prevents your ability from sensing Firyavaryar now?"

"It is possible."

"Then you're saying you believe Ogol is alive?"

The _elleth _screamed.


	10. Matters of Trust and Torment

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Ten  
Word Count:** 3,532**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** This was one of those chapters that ended up needing plenty of editing, starting out with one scene that ended up being the final scene when it was the first, and the second one had to be redone and split, and the one with Sérëdhiel wasn't what it started out to be, but I think I may let that subplot do what it will anyway, even if subplots always get me into trouble.

*shrugs* It's a chapter. That's a good thing, right?

* * *

**Matters of Trust and Torment  
**

"Can you get her calm, my lady?" Legolas asked, aware that their efforts at soothing the _elleth_ had only agitated her more. She would not be settled, not after hearing them say that Ogol was alive. He did not know what they could do to ease her mind, not if her tormenter lived. She had been relieved to hear Ogol was dead, and they had taken that from her, brought back her fear and all her worst memories.

"We will do what we can," Galadriel said, putting her arms around the _elleth _and passing her to a group of elves wearing robes, who took her in hand and led her away. Legolas watched with a frown. He did not know that Gwilwilethel would have reacted in this manner if she had lied—but then she would have _had _to if she wanted to be believed. He did not know that it would have fooled Galadriel or Mithrandir. They both seemed to believe that she had spoken truthfully—as had Legolas the first time he met her.

He knew that he, though, was more trusting than most. He forgave things that others would not, and he still trusted after betrayals. He was, in some people's opinion, a fool. He did not know that he could trust his own instincts about Gwilwilethel.

"Do you believe she told Varyar the truth?"

Galadriel glanced toward the departing elves. "I have never known her to be untruthful in the past, though I know your friend was unwilling to accept her answer as truth."

Legolas nodded. He had heard that before, and he could understand that—Varyar had almost accused Legolas of lying when he had told him of the _elleth _he met, the one could not believe he had saved. "Did he tell you what she told him?"

"No, though I did see what he saw in the pool."

"Which was?"

"Do not tell them," Nostalion warned, sending a dark look toward the lady of the wood. "He would not want all of them to know, and they have not the right to gossip about Varyar."

She inclined her head, studying him as she did. "Would you say the same if you believed that what was seen might be of assistance to you in finding him or stabilizing his mind?"

"I do not trust any of you to know his mind, nor do I trust what you might tell me of it," Nostalion told her. "It is also not his mind that needs to be feared for, not now."

"You believe _Gildin _is in danger," Mithrandir said, frowning. "What is it you believe has befallen him?"

"We are not certain," Estel answered when it became clear that Nostalion would not. "Nostalion admits to having trouble sensing Firyavaryar now, and that interference could mean that Ogol is alive and has him again, but we do not know."

"Is this true?" Mithrandir asked Nostalion. "You cannot sense Firyavaryar?"

"No." Nostalion bit off the word as though it was a curse. Legolas knew that he did not like admitting to this weakness, and he would not doubt that others would not think that the assassin would lie about being able to sense Varyar at all.

"Damned elves. Lies and tricks—did you enjoy this chase you've lead us all on? Was it some sort of game that you and that friend of yours concocted to make fools of us all?" Gimli demanded. He pointed his axe at the assassin. "The truth now—did you lead us here for nothing?"

"Gimli," Estel began in warning. Legolas would have joined him—he did not think that this was any sort of trick or prank. Varyar had come to Lórien seeking answers, and he had not liked the ones he got—and now he might be in the hold of the enemy that had tormented him for centuries. Nostalion had not lead them falsely, and it was not about making fools of them. It was about Ogol. Again.

"Nostalion," Legolas intervened, turning to him. "Can you track what you do get from Varyar enough to find him again?"

The assassin hesitated. "I am not certain."

Estel frowned. "Have you lost him completely, then?"

"No," Nostalion said, frustrated. "I know he is still alive. I know some sense of the direction in which they are moving, but I cannot be as accurate as I have been before."

"It is enough for me," Legolas told him. "I will go with you and find Varyar."

"Do you believe this is necessary?" Mithrandir asked. He looked to Galadriel, consulting her without words, and whatever they were thinking was not shared with the others.

"Our theory is that the interference comes from whatever binding Ogol used to subdue Varyar in the past and would use now," Legolas answered for the assassin, who looked more ready to kill them all than he was to explain anything or remain much longer. "We cannot be certain of it, but we do know that Ogol would have needed something to control Varyar in even a small measure—he is a capable fighter, a trained warrior, and it does not seem right to any of us that Ogol could keep him prisoner easily."

"Unless the elf was working with him," Gimli said, and Legolas had to move in between him and Nostalion.

"If you knew anything at all, dwarf, you would know that would _never _happen," Nostalion said, dagger in hand. "You do not understand the torment Ogol has put that family through, and you do not understand Varyar's loyalty to his siblings. He would die before he let them see harm, and he would never give them into Ogol's hands. He is not working for that creature."

"Do you think it possible that your _gwador _would agree to the same kind of bargain as his parents did?" Galadriel asked, and Nostalion turned to face her, sheathing the blade.

"If that is the kind of lie that Varyar found here, it is far from surprising that he left," the assassin told her. "Why should you ask if he works with the darkness when it is you that does?"

"Nostalion—"

"No, Prince. You may trust these people, fool that you are, but even you must wonder—how could Ogol have taken Varyar from the protection of this sacred land without their aid?"

* * *

"You can ask, you know."

Sérëdhiel looked over from where the children were playing to Arwen, a slight smile on her face. The queen's statement should not amuse her, but it did. "Do you think if I felt the need to ask it would not be obvious? Or is it a question you want someone to ask you so that you can decide the truth?"

Arwen frowned, not having expected that response, which made Sérëdhiel more tempted to laugh.

"She means that if you regretted your decision to be mortal, you would show it, and that if you want someone to ask, you must have doubts," Alassë said, rubbing her back with a grimace. "All of the children of Erurainon and Calathiel have insight that is almost... painful, and worse, they are amused when we who lack it are surprised by it."

Arwen glanced at Sérëdhiel. "Is this true?"

"I suppose it is, though in part, Alassë is annoyed due to her condition and not because she finds Idhrenion overly perceptive. Most of the time, she complains that he is oblivious, and I do think he can be. His focus gets narrow, and he thinks only of what occupies him at that particular moment, noticing nothing else. It is difficult to reach him at such times, and more frustrating for her than anyone else, I would think."

"Is that because I hit him to get his attention?" Alassë asked with a false sweetness. "That is not frustration—that is practicality."

Sérëdhiel laughed, and Arwen frowned at them both. Their human was not that of normal elves, though as the wife of the _edain _king, Sérëdhiel would have thought her more accustomed to sentiments like the one her sister had just spoken. "True, Varyar has used such methods in the past with Idhrenion. I never needed it, but I am expected to be gentle."

Alassë snorted. "I think you could have rivaled the lady of Ithilien for great deeds in battle if you had wanted to. You have more training and ability to fight than you want to acknowledge."

"Is that because you trained with Legolas when you were children?"

"Yes, in part," Sérëdhiel answered. She folded her hands together. "Also in part because Firyavaryar wanted us to be able to defend ourselves if anything happened to him. He did not want us to have to fight, but he knew if we did, it would avail us nothing to retain our ignorance in hopes of also keeping our innocence."

Arwen nodded. "It is, I think, a lesson all of us have learned over the course of this war with Sauron. Our greatest heroes in it were Hobbits, and most people consider them nothing more than children. Yet they saved us all."

"I have no doubt that children can be the salvation of many," Sérëdhiel said, thinking not only of the way her niece charmed everyone or the desperate hopes her parents had placed in her brother but also of the way that a certain former assassin was with his own son.

"It is a shame that they feel as though they will be the end of us," Alassë muttered, groaning as she shifted position. "I am not even that large yet—why am I in such pain all the time?"

Sérëdhiel swallowed. Her best explanation for that was that Alassë did indeed carry two children, but it was not one she wanted to voice, not knowing her sister's fear of that occurrence. "Because Idhrenion and Thenidriel are not allowing you enough rest, perhaps."

Alassë snorted. "If I could not sleep with Idhrenion's snoring, I would have killed him long ago. It is... almost a comfort after all this time."

Arwen smiled slightly. "It is, I believe, more difficult to sleep without the familiar sounds next to us than it is to sleep with them, even if they are annoying at times. Aragorn has a tendency to grumble in his sleep when he is worried. I find myself laying awake nights to listen for it."

"Does it annoy you, then, that he has gone off chasing my brother on a foolish errand?"

"Alassë," Sérëdhiel hissed. She knew that Idhrenion was worried, and that worry was upsetting his whole family, making Alassë's pregnancy more difficult, but she should not call this a foolish errand. If Ogol lived, it was all too likely that he had found Firyavaryar by now, and that was in part what her brother would have wanted—to have himself taken and save the others from that fate. She did not know that he would return this time, but she did not speak of those fears to anyone, not now.

"I do not believe their quest foolish," Arwen said. "It would be more foolish to ignore the possible threat. Every time we have done so in the past, it has been at great cost to everyone."

Sérëdhiel nodded. Alassë sighed. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then they opened, her features crinkling into a frown. "I do not know if this is a threat or not, but I do not remember the last time I saw Eruaistaniel."

"I do not believe I have spoken to her since I came," Arwen said, also frowning. "Is she still unwell?"

"No, she said she was improved yesterday," Sérëdhiel began, though her own words caused her some doubt. Like Alassë, she had not seen Eruaistaniel today, and since their _gwathel _was not one to wander far from their camp, it was strange if not outright sinister that she had not made an appearance.

"Sérëdhiel?"

"I am going to look for her," she told Alassë. "Watch Tirithon for me, please."

* * *

"How dare you accuse the fairest of all ladies of treachery?" Gimli demanded, waving his axe as close to Nostalion as he could with Legolas standing between them. "I'll have your head for this, assassin or no, and you'll feel the sting of my axe!"

"Gimli," Aragorn began, shaking his head. He did not like the Avari's accusation any more than his friend did, but he acknowledged that Nostalion did have some reason for concern. "We have just been discussing the possibility of Firyavaryar being taken by Ogol. If that is true, then we must know how he or his agents were able to get this close to Lórien without us knowing of it."

Gimli stared at him for a long moment, stuttering enough to get a bit of drool on his beard. "You're agreeing with that... that elf?"

Legolas grimaced. "We are not agreeing—I do not believe that either Mithrandir or Galadriel would work in collusion with Ogol—but I do think that Nostalion is right to be concerned about how Lórien could have been breached. We should have known there were orcs here."

"Could whatever is interfering with Nostalion's senses be the same as what caused these orcs to pass through your borders without your knowledge?" Aragorn asked, uncertain how Galadriel would react to all of these accusations and insults. "Is that possible?"

"Once it would have been said that little passed without my knowledge," Galadriel said. "I fear there is a great deal, though, that I do not know, that I have never known, and it may yet come to pass that what I did not know may cause all great harm."

Nostalion grunted. Mithrandir looked at him. "It is not our fault alone, though I fear our efforts to calm and aid young _Gildin _were unwelcome and unsuccessful. I could not reassure him, nor could Galadriel, and he left quite angrily. We both agreed that it was best to leave him alone until he was willing to hear us. That was, it now seems, a mistake, but we did not know it would be. As I have tried to tell all of you—Firyavaryar's path has been obscured for his entire life. It would not be unthinkable to say it was Ogol, and yet I have never known someone powerful enough to do that, not even Sauron could hide an entire life's path.".

"I do not think it Ogol alone that concealed the path," Galadriel said, holding up a hand to halt Nostalion's anger. "I do not say that accusing Firyavaryar. I do not believe he had any choice in what he isWhat I saw in the pool causes me to believe that Ogol's scheme requires something that Firyavaryar's parents would pass to their children. Yes, he sought and used Firyavaryar's parents for a specific purpose, but whatever it was is somehow tied up in Firyavaryar and still unknown to us."

Nostalion frowned. Legolas wondered how much Varyar had told him, if he could make connections that the others could not with this information he had been given. "Do you know what that purpose could have been?"

"No."

"Liar."

The assassin glared at the dwarf, raising his blade to add to his warning words. "You are small and fortunate that you are significant to others. If it were my decision alone, you would already be dead."

"Try it, laddie."

"Gimli, this is not the time," Aragorn said, placing his hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "This alliance is temporary, but we can none of us afford to overlook the threat that Ogol would be if he did survive that fall. If Ogol is alive, we need to find him. To find him, we need to find Firyavaryar. It is that simple. We do not have to like Nostalion, but he remains our best hope of finding Firyavaryar and Ogol, even if we would have it be otherwise."

Nostalion gave Aragorn a dark look. "I would rather it were otherwise as well. You are none of you the companions I would choose, most of you poor fighters, and I do not trust you."

"I think you only trust Varyar," Legolas said. He drew in a breath and let it out. "We will all have to trust him now."

"It's not him that's leading us to Ogol."

"No," Legolas agreed. "It is Varyar who must withstand Ogol long enough to let us find him as well as do what he can to subvert Ogol's plans."

"You're assuming he would."

Nostalion cursed in the dark tongue, walking away from them. Gimli smiled smugly, but Legolas frowned. He shook his head, his frustration over being caught between friends obvious. Aragorn did not know that Legolas considered the assassin a friend, but he did know that Nostalion was necessary for finding Firyavaryar and Ogol.

"That was uncalled for," Legolas said. "You may not like him or trust him, and you do not have to, but do not ever question his devotion to family. That has never been in doubt. He would not work for Ogol, and you are insulting both him and Nostalion. He will do anything for Varyar. That is their bond as _gwedeir. _You should trust in those things if you do not trust anything else."

"Do we dare let him go on his own to cool his temper?" Aragorn asked. If Firyavaryar had been taken when he did that, they should not leave the assassin alone for long.

"A few minutes only," Mithrandir advised. "Then you must go after _Gildin _and Ogol."

* * *

"It would have hurt less if you were more cooperative."

Firyavaryar did not lift his head. "You know that I have no desire to cooperate with you. I never have. Never will."

Ogol crossed around, standing in front of him this time. Varyar watched the blood drip onto the ground, wondering where he had found another orc to slaughter to have fresh blood on the blade. He had thought he had killed them all before Ogol himself intervened with some kind of magic. Varyar did not know what the monster had used. He did not know enough about magic to be certain exactly what had happened to him, but he did not need to know more than that a familiar weight was back around his neck. That weight told him everything that was necessary for him to know now.

"Your skill is impressive, though," Ogol said, turning the blade over. "I enjoyed watching you fight. It pleases me to see that you carry weapons worthy of you at last."

"If I had known they would please you, I would have given them back to Thranduil."

"Oh, pet. You and your petty acts of defiance. When will you learn that they accomplish nothing?"

Firyavaryar grunted. He needed his petty acts to feel some measure of control, and he knew that he would not stop doing what he could to defy Ogol even if he was a prisoner and had the damned band around his neck again.

"What do you want?"

"What I have always wanted," Ogol said, kneeling down next to him. His hand came out of the robe and lifted Varyar's chin. "I have missed you."

"I did not miss you. I had rather hoped that you would remain dead. I had no particular desire to survive myself, but if I was going to live—you should have died."

"Dearest pet, do you not understand yet? You live and die at _my _discretion. It is my choice whether you survive or not. No one else's. Not even yours. You are and always have been mine."

Varyar pulled his head out of the wizard's hand. "You will never get what you want from me. You should know that."

"You amuse me," Ogol said, pulling on the chain and dragging him back. "You _are _what I want."

Firyavaryar shuddered. He reached up a hand and pushed against the robe, trying to get some leeway on the chain. "How did you manage to get that many orcs near Lórien without them noticing?"

"Dearest pet," Ogol cooed, combing through Varyar's hair. "Your mind is so quaint. You assume there were so many orcs because your pride cannot allow for it to be only a small number that caused your defeat. Your mind is quite confused, and you are easily misled. Their number was not half so fearsome as you believe. I should not disappoint you, but your skill, while impressive, was nevertheless used on a quantity that was hardly that."

"I hate you," Varyar muttered, turning away from the hood. He stopped. "Why bother concealing yourself? You know I know what you look like. I know you are not Mithrandir. You are not Saruman. Why hide?"

"You wish to see my true face?"

"I have seen it before. It is not as terrifying as you think it is. You are a monster, not in appearance, but in behavior and love of torture. Underneath that robe, you are just a wrinkled old man."

"Is that so? I suppose you need a reminder of just how violent a 'wrinkled old man' can be, then."


	11. Things Obvious and Hidden

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Eleven  
Word Count:** 3,354**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** So... I think I will just say that there is a long overdue explanation in this section, plus the start of a few other threads that will hopefully tie together later. I did enjoy having Éowyn and Sérëdhiel talk perhaps more than I should have, but I figured they would get along well, and I'd meant to show that sooner, but it just didn't have a place.

* * *

**Things Obvious and Hidden**

"Éowyn. Faramir. Have either of you seen Eruaistaniel?"

Éowyn turned from where her husband stood, walking a short distance away from him and the Gondorian soldiers to join Sérëdhiel. Faramir glanced in her direction, but she gave him a smile and he turned back to whatever business he was conducting.

Sérëdhiel grimaced, forcing herself to be polite. "I did not mean to interrupt. I need to know if you or Faramir or any of his men have seen Eruaistaniel today."

Éowyn shook her head. "No one has mentioned her to me, though if she is still unwell or withdrawn, they would not. She is so quiet that most of the time I only hear of her when one of our men has gotten too close and spooked her and is in fear of having to fight your brother because of it."

"He is very protective of all of us," Sérëdhiel said, though she was not comforted. She knew that the sheildmaiden's words _were _true. If Eruaistaniel wished to be alone, then she would be, and no one would see her. She might be skittish, but she also knew how to hide.

"Yet he did leave."

Sérëdhiel nodded, tensing. "Are you implying something about Firyavaryar's absence? That he has somehow withdrawn his protection by leaving?"

"No," Éowyn said. "It has been the topic of much discussion among men and elf alike. They all know of his fight with Gimli and Legolas before his departure, and then they all went after them. There is talk. None of it mentions him withdrawing his protection, nor should it."

Sérëdhiel forced herself to calm. "I—I believe I am oversensitive at the moment. Alassë would have that mean that I carry another child, but I hope that is not true, for I fear something is upon us that will need me to be something far removed from a mother."

Éowyn frowned. "You believe a battle is coming?"

"I do not know. I am worried. I cannot deny that. My brother is gone, and it is never pleasant to be the one left behind when he goes because I know the risk he carries when he leaves. I have long feared that he will suffer the same fate as our mother—he has come close—and we will never see him again."

The lady of Ithilien nodded. "Well do I know the sting of being left behind. I have hated it with every part of my soul."

"I can cope with their departure when I hold hope of their return," Sérëdhiel said, not just for the lady's sake but for her own. She let out a breath. "I do not wish to borrow trouble, but I do not know where Eruaistaniel is, and it seems no one has seen her in some time."

Éowyn looked at Faramir and lowered her voice. "I suppose you have heard how foolish I was over King Elassar before he left for the path of the dead. Everyone must have."

"I doubt it is so common a tale," Sérëdhiel said, though she was aware of it. "The man you have chosen now is a worthy one."

"He is," Éowyn agreed. She lowered her head for a moment. "Yet there was I, Éowyn, sheildmaiden of Rohan, white lady of Ithilien, slayer of the Witch King of Agmar, afraid of seeing him again even now. I am embarrassed by my behavior."

"I think it was unfair to name a man hope in a dark time when all become desperate for it."

Éowyn laughed a little. "Thank you. That is kind."

Sérëdhiel did not say that she sometimes thought Arwen was a fool for giving up immortality for the _edain _king, that both her and the sheildmaiden deserved better than the king, but then she had Avari prejudice within her still.

"Do you think that your friend has withdrawn because she would rather not see anyone knowing that they know of her feelings for your brother?"

Sérëdhiel frowned. "Is that the talk of the camp, too? Does everyone in Ithilien gossip about her?"

"It is not gossip as much as it is obvious to anyone who has seen her with him," Éowyn said. She sighed. "I imagine I was much the same with the king, but Eruaistaniel's love is not half as blind as mine was. She cannot be ignorant of your brother's faults, nor is she motivated by a vain need for glory."

"No, that has never been what Eruaistaniel sought, though she could have had it," Sérëdhiel said. She saw the confusion on the other woman's face and explained as much as she could without going into hours worth of contorted family arrangements within the Avari. "Eruaistaniel was set to marry the heir, making her a princess of sorts within the family—I suppose it could be considered a tribe or clan—and had that happened, she would have been married to a leader and due all of that respect."

"I did not know that."

"Politics within the Avari are complicated. Alassë and Eruaistaniel come from a family that has twisted them well beyond sanity, if politics were ever sane to begin with." Sérëdhiel almost laughed. "My parents were supposedly from two opposing clans and that was why we lived apart from the others, but I do not know if that story is true since we know about Ogol now, but that was the tale we were once told."

"Would her family oppose her marrying Firyavaryar?"

Sérëdhiel did laugh that time. "Oh, yes. They hate him. He almost started a second civil war when he defied them, saved her, took her and Alassë into his house and protection, and lured Nostalion away from them."

"You don't think they would come reclaim her or Alassë, do you?"

"No. They fear my brother as much as they hate him, and I do not think that word could have gotten to them that he has been cured of the poison he carries. Even without it, he is a skilled fighter, and they do not want to battle him," Sérëdhiel said. She shook her head. "I do not know why Eruaistaniel is not here. I do not believe she would go off alone, and I do not think she is hiding because of what passed between her and Varyar. I know it upset her, but he is not here to cause her more pain."

"More pain?"

Sérëdhiel nodded. "She may love him, but my brother swore when we were children that he would never marry, and he has not altered from that despite the centuries that have intervened. Nor would he. His offspring is forfeit to the monster—to Ogol."

Éowyn grimaced. "If he made that clear to her, are you entirely certain that she has not harmed herself? I know in part I chased battle because I no longer wanted to live, and if she felt as I did, then perhaps there is a reason to fear her absence."

* * *

"I do not understand it. How could Ogol have gotten close to Lórien without anyone noticing? He could not have marched these orcs from nowhere. His fortress was destroyed, yet he obviously has resources," Aragorn said, shaking his head as he looked around at the carnage. This should have been heard or seen, the trees and ground should have carried warning to the elves that lived here, but they had found this by the stink of its decay.

"Does he?" Legolas asked, kneeling next to the body of an orc. "This is not an army, no, but it was eliminated."

"You claiming it was the work of one elf?" Gimli demanded. "That elf? The mad one?"

"Do not mistake madness for inability. Some can manage both," Nostalion warned. He pointed to the corpse. "Those marks should be familiar to you, Prince."

Legolas nodded. "I have seen them many times myself, for my blades cut in nearly the same manner, and they are almost identical to the ones Varyar had when he left Ithilien. I do not regret disappointing you, Gimli. These orcs were killed by his blades."

"Then where is he? There's no sign of the blasted elf anywhere here."

Legolas looked at Aragorn, and he had to nod, for he could find no trace of the path Firyavaryar had taken when he left the area. Even details of the battle—something that must have happened here, the corpses were all too fresh to have been brought here—were obscured. Something had caused the events that took place here to have almost no impact at all, no imprint to follow and track the course of the fight, as though even the grass and earth had been unable to know what happened.

"I cannot get enough from this area to tell the fight," Aragorn admitted. He had been able to track it when they were told Merry and Pippin were dead, but this he could not track. "It is unclear what happened, other than that orcs died here."

"Ogol used them to tire and weaken Varyar," Nostalion said, kicking one of the corpses. "It is a method that he has used before. After the fight was over, he took Varyar."

"Took him, eh? And where did he take him? How did he take him?" Gimli asked. "Did he point a stick and make him disappear?"

"The shadow lingers here," Legolas said, reaching out to place his hand on a tree. "This place has been touched by it in a way I have never seen before. It is not unlike what you and Varyar used to make us sleep, Nostalion, and yet I do not remember that affecting the land—other than the heaviness in the air. I do not understand."

"Varyar's herbs are nothing compared to the strength of spell that Ogol can conjure," Nostalion said. He drew in a breath, frowning as he did.

"What is it? Has something happened to Varyar?"

"Perhaps he's dead and this whole foolish quest is over."

"Gimli!" Aragorn did not care much for Firyavaryar himself, but the dwarf knew better than to say that. He had already been warned by Nostalion not to insult his _gwador, _but he also needed to be more sensitive to the feelings of his friend. While Aragorn and Gimli did not like Firyavaryar or his influence on Legolas, Aragorn knew that Legolas considered him family. He loved him as a brother. Suggesting that he should be dead was something no friend should do.

"You do not want Varyar to be dead," Nostalion told the dwarf, voice cold. "He is the only one who can stop what Ogol is planning."

"Bah. You say that because you won't admit that he's working with this Ogol."

"He is also the only reason you are still alive. If not for his affection for Legolas, I would have already ended your insignificant life."

Aragorn grabbed hold of the dwarf and pulled him close. "You need to stop baiting him. One day his loyalty may decide that it is better to end the insults than ignore them for the sake of the affection his _gwador _has for Legolas. Nostalion is right—we cannot stop Ogol without Firyavaryar. We would not be able to find him. We need Firyavaryar alive. Legolas wants him alive. Watch how you speak."

Gimli grumbled. "I don't like this. I don't like that elf—_either _of those elves—don't trust 'em, and I just as soon believe this was some kind of trick rather than doubt the word of Galadriel."

"Do you doubt your own eyes, then?" Legolas asked, his voice quiet. He lifted a hand and gestured to the carnage around them. "These orcs did not walk here on their own. They were not killed by old age. They were cut by a swordsman who has some skill—skill you yourself have seen. I know this is not what we want to learn—that the enemy can get this close to us without our knowledge, but it is undeniable."

"How did they manage this if it isn't a trick?" Gimli asked, directing his question to the assassin. Nostalion glared back at him. "Well, if you don't want accusations, offer up a theory or two. What use are you if you can't track and won't say anything?"

"I can track."

Aragorn looked at him. "Did you get much from the battle? It seems to me that even those signs were obscured somehow."

Nostalion glanced at the field. "The signs on the ground are gone, yes. Makes the one in the sky more obvious."

"The one in the sky?" Legolas asked, frowning, but then he nodded. "Yes, you may be right. I did not see it before, but when you think about the lack of trail and the slight clearing here where the fight was—Estel, I think Ogol may have some kind of flying mount."

"You got that from what he said about the sky?" Gimli shook his head. "If it's that obvious, why'd you need him to tell you?"

Aragorn grimaced. "Because we were too focused on what we could learn from this place and not thinking of what something else might tell us. Legolas was trying to get an answer from the trees as he does, and I was searching the ground. That is how we track most of the time."

"And if Ogol knows anything about us," Legolas began, "and he must know at least a little, more so of me, since I was his prisoner, he knows how we track. He knows where our focus would be. He let it stumble us for as long as we were unwilling to think beyond our usual boundaries."

"It also means tracking him on the ground would be useless," Aragorn said, feeling frustration trying to take hold of him. He would feel just as useless on this trip, denied the opportunity to help in the way he would have done before—tracking. "We won't find signs of his passage that way. We're going to be reliant on what Nostalion can give us, even more so than we were before."

"And if this Ogol is expecting that, too?"

* * *

Firyavaryar knew pain. He had become dead to it long ago, knowing that it would not end and could not be changed. He knew the taste of his own blood and that wavering sense as he strayed close to a death an immortal should not have, but he had not been scared of that, not since he was a child. He knew all of this, and he did not feel like rising.

Something licked his face, and he jerked, pulling away and hitting something hard. Laughter greeted his actions, and he would have expected to see an orc there, gloating after having been disgusting, but he knew that laughter.

Ogol.

"Oh, pet. I would think you would be more receptive to affection from your oldest companion," Ogol said, and Varyar imagined that he was smiling underneath that hood. He must be, for he stood next to a fell beast, enjoying every inconvenience and discomfort Firyavaryar felt as well as the joke. "I think our other pet missed you."

Varyar grimaced, pulling his legs and arms close to his body. Now he did remember that... thing, and he knew it did not _miss _him, not unless it missed the _taste _of him. He shuddered, but even as he did, he found understanding at last. "You enjoy masquerading as a nazgûl."

"It has its uses."

"Even though they are all dead now?"

"Are they? Supposedly all of his kind were destroyed, but you can see that he has not been. No, the wraiths are not necessarily gone. Those fools may assume that they have killed them, but some doubt will remain, and all I need to move freely is that bit of doubt," Ogol said. "Doubt has worked very well on you, almost too well, for I fear there is little left of your mind."

Firyavaryar ignored that, unwilling to agree even if it was true. "That thing was in your caverns, at the bottom of them. When you fell, it caught you."

"And you as well," Ogol said, knowing that would make Varyar shudder again. He laughed. "You must hate that you owe your survival to this 'foul creature,' but it has always been ever so fond of you. You know I think it wanted to save you more than it did me."

"I hate you," Firyavaryar muttered, leaning back against the stone, wanting the turmoil in his stomach to end. He could feel that creature's breath on him, smell the stink of whatever had decayed in its mouth, and then its teeth would rip through his flesh—he preferred the torture of the orcs to that thing.

"Such a pity. I adore you," Ogol said, and Varyar grimaced, trying to get himself on his feet before Ogol decided his game should be played with his other pet. "You know you will not be able to run. I do enjoy watching him hunt you, but today we must travel, not play. You needed your reminder, yes, you did, for you have fooled yourself into thinking you can truly defy me, but you cannot. You are mine to do what I will, and you will do what I tell you."

"I never have before."

"Oh, pet. How you like to believe that, but you know it is not true. Tell me, did you forget the bargain you made for her freedom?"

"There is no bargaining with you," Firyavaryar said. "You have always said I was yours, that I had no choice, so what could I have bargained with? No, she was lying. She may have bargained with you, but I did not."

Ogol's laughter taunted him again, ringing against the stone as he pulled on the chain and dragged Varyar toward him and the creature. "That is you wanting to believe things that are not true, those lies you cling to because your mind cannot accept what you are, but you are mine and have been all your life, so you do what I want you to."

"Not even the Valar, if they existed, could do that."

"I am not like the pathetic Valar. I shape things to my will where they think the promise of a journey is enough to pacify all Middle Earth. Do you think so? What fools are they, leaving creatures like you to their own will when they could be using you as I have done?"

"Your will is meaningless. You will fail."

"You do not even know what it is I am after."

"I do not need to. I know you will never accomplish it, because I will never serve you."

Ogol attached the chain to another band, this one around the creature's neck. "You and your delusions, little pet. Yes, you will serve me. You already have in so many wonderful ways."

Varyar snorted. "Name one."

"I could remind you of dozens," Ogol boasted, touching his cheek. "I fear we do not have time for that now, though. We must resume our travels. They are gathering, and soon these pathetic kingdoms of men will fall."

"The kingdoms of men just defeated Sauron."

"Yes, and weakened themselves considerably to do so. There is little left there worth fighting, and soon it will all be gone," Ogol said, smug. "And you have helped that along so nicely already, drawing the king away from his troops as you did. Masterful stroke. He will be much easier to kill separated from his armies. Perhaps I will even let you do that."

"No. I will not do it."

"Oh, yes, you will," Ogol told him with a confidence that made Firyavaryar sick. He knew that Ogol was delusional, but something about the way he said that made Varyar fear he had the right leverage, the kind that would make him do anything the monster asked of him.


	12. Trouble with Travels

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Twelve  
Word Count:** 3,350**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** So... I think, I really hope, that this is just about the last of the traveling sections for Varyar. That is both good and bad. Good because I hate writing travel and can only hope that is interesting. Bad because he's in more trouble when he's at Ogol's destination, as well as knowing that I have to start explaining more, and while I like the idea I came up with, I'm not sure how to get into it or if it will live up to the hype.

That said, though, the traveling is almost over, so... some things should be coming together soon, and that will help. Maybe.

* * *

**Troubles with Travels**

"You should not have tried to leave in the middle of the flight."

Firyavaryar gagged, choking breath into his lungs even as he wished he hadn't, unable to move from where he'd fallen after the beast landed. He knew he was still chained to the damned thing, and he would have twisted that chain back around where it could kill the beast, but he would have to force himself to survive this first.

He had no interest in that.

Ogol bent down and lifted his head. "It was almost amusing, your attempt to end your life—you remain so stubborn and foolish—but I tire of this behavior. You live and die at my discretion, remember? You will not leave until I say you can."

Varyar almost smiled. For all that boasting, he had still forced the monster to stop mid-flight because he had almost managed to kill himself jumping off the beast. The chain had done its old familiar job—more than once—and Ogol was angry because his brilliant means of control could actually be used against him. Yes, Firyavaryar had almost died in the process, but he still preferred death to whatever role he was expected to play in Ogol's twisted schemes. He would not allow himself to be used. He had to find some way of stopping it, and he had been close when he got off the beast in the air.

Now, though, he was on the ground and weakened, and he did not know how much longer he would remain conscious. That meant he would lose his opportunity for another attempt, not that he thought Ogol would let him do that again. It should have worked the first time, but since it had not, he would be unable to employ that method again.

"You should rest," Ogol told him, and Varyar tried to glare but felt a bit too weak for that, even. "And you have annoyed your friend so much that he would rather eat you than bear you, so I believe I shall have to let him hunt something instead."

"As much... as... disgusts me," Firyavaryar whispered, voice hoarse, "let it... eat me."

"Amusing. I do enjoy watching when it plays with its food—even when that food is you—but you are not allowed to die, so that is not an option." Ogol forced his head back. "Open your mouth."

"Not... eating it."

"It is far worse in other forms," Ogol warned him. "And it will reduce the pain."

Varyar laughed. "Since when... my pain... anything... amusement to you? You... enjoy watching... me suffer. Why... allow... relief?"

"So that I can continue my work when you wake," Ogol said, enjoying this. He patted Varyar's cheek and leaned his head back, forcing the herbs into his mouth. Firyavaryar gagged on them, woozier than he had been when they first landed. He saw darkness and cursed. Ogol laughed. "That is it, pet. Sleep now. When we come back, we will continue our journey, though I do not think you will be awake for most of it. A shame. I miss your company."

Varyar did not bother to respond to that, not that he had the energy to do so. He closed his eyes, letting Ogol think his herbs were as effective as they should be, but he figured if his body had withstood Draugminaion's poison for over a century, his body could counter those herbs as they had not in the past. Yes, he was still weak, and he would remain so, but he would be able to have a few moments of privacy, and that might be enough.

He waited for the robes to move away, forcing himself not to shudder when Ogol brushed back the hair of his pet, but by the time he heard the screech of the beast lifting itself into the air, he had lost his battle with whatever he had ingested.

He would sleep.

* * *

"Nostalion?"

The assassin had stopped again, and Legolas did not think he was the only one that worried when Nostalion did this. It was not only strange to watch the way he tracked—he did not stop to look for signs on the ground or speak to the trees as Estel or Legolas would have—but stranger still to have him stop abruptly, draw in breath, and frown as though the air itself disagreed with him.

Legolas found himself traveling closer to the Avari than the others, knowing that he was the buffer that kept tempers from escalating into violence. Nostalion had told them all that the only reason Gimli was still alive was because he was Legolas' friend and Nostalion's loyalty to Varyar kept him from killing any of Legolas' friends, but with the way this journey had progressed, Legolas did not know that such loyalty could restrain him forever, though, and he felt better standing between his friends and Varyar's _gwador._

"Is something wrong?"

Nostalion pulled himself from wherever his mind had gone and turned back to face Legolas. "You will have to be more specific."

Legolas smiled. "I suppose I would. I just—you seem to be stopping frequently, and so I became concerned."

"You think I would withhold information from you? That I do not know where I am going and cannot sense Varyar?"

"No," Legolas said, for he did trust—perhaps wrongly—that Nostalion would not lie about that. He would not lead them in a lie—if he could not sense Varyar, he would not drag them along. He would leave them all behind as he did his own fruitless search. "I just thought perhaps something had changed in Varyar's state."

"He is unconscious, yes, but that is not unexpected. He was clear for a very brief time, and then he was lost again," Nostalion answered. His eyes shifted to the trees. "He is weak, but he lives, and that is all you need know."

"Is it?" Legolas countered. He still did not know all of what Nostalion got from someone when he tracked them, but if there was more of Varyar they should know, then he wanted to know. "If there is something you withhold from us—"

"Do you wish to know each detail of the torture Ogol is putting him through?" Nostalion asked, tone indecipherable. "I did not think you were the type to enjoy the suffering of others, but if you must know those things, you may ask them of Ogol himself. I believe he would happily tell you."

Legolas grimaced. "That is not what I meant. I just wanted to know if you knew more that perhaps we should be aware of."

Nostalion glanced toward the dwarf and the king in turn, and then he inclined his head, and were he Varyar, he might have smiled that bitter one of his. "He has almost died twice since we started following Ogol."

Legolas flinched. Gimli grunted. "Enjoyed telling him that, did you, laddie?"

"You remain as foolish as ever, dwarf. Do you imagine I enjoy knowing that he suffers? That he has almost gone to his death? Perhaps you dwarves do that, but even assassins, it would seem, have more concern for others than you do."

Estel sighed. "I think it was more that he thought you were enjoying hurting Legolas in word than he believed you were enjoying your friend's torment."

Nostalion turned away. "Make excuses for the dwarf if you want. They will not save him if he does not learn to silence himself—and if Varyar dies, I will not restrain myself, either. That much is a promise."

"Something else _is _wrong," Legolas said, and the others looked at him. He knew he must seem foolish for saying that with as much conviction as he had—he did not know Nostalion well—but he thought he had learned some of the other elf, enough to know that it was not just Varyar's pain that was troubling him. "What is it? What has happened? Is it Sérëdhiel? Has she been harmed? Or your son?"

Estel tensed. His own family was still in Ithilien, and if the others had been hurt, then Arwen and Eldarion could have been as well, and Estel would not forgive himself for leaving them behind. "Is something wrong in Ithilien?"

Nostalion shook his head. "Not that you should fear. I can feel Sérëdhiel, and I know she is distressed, but it has nothing to do with your wife or son. They are unharmed."

"And Sérëdhiel as well?" Legolas asked. Nostalion glared at him, but Legolas would not leave it there. "You cannot think us so unfeeling. You have left wife and son behind as well, and we knew there was a risk in going, but we did not want your family to suffer because of it. Is she well?"

"She is distressed, as I already told you. More so than I would have expected from her even with Varyar gone, but that is nothing for you to worry over." Nostalion lifted his head, drawing in a breath. "Varyar has stopped moving. We should go now, make up the distance, for his pace is much faster than ours, and we are too far behind already."

Legolas nodded, but he did wonder if there was more that the assassin was not telling them.

* * *

"She's not here."

Sérëdhiel put her hand over her stomach, trying not to let her fear overwhelm the rest of her. She had to be calm, had to think. She had to find a solution, not allow panic to create more chaos. She drew in a breath and let it out again.

"Are you unwell, Lady Sérëdhiel?"

Alassë would say so, she would almost want her to be, but Sérëdhiel refused to think about that. She already had Tirithon, and she did not know how she could care for him and do what must be done. She shook her head. "No, I am not ill. I am—you are certain that Eruaistaniel is not in Ithilien? Not anywhere?"

Faramir's face expressed a regret she did not doubt he felt, though he was of the _edain. _"Not that my men or the elves could find. We searched all through the forest, and there was no sign of her there. I would ask Legolas or King Elessar to assist in the tracking, but they are not available. Still, their skill is more than mine, and I would like to give you every assurance I can—"

"I do not doubt that you have done a diligent search," Sérëdhiel said, for she did not, and if there was another tracker she would have asked for assistance, it would not have been her _gwador _or the king. She wanted only one elf, and he was gone. "There was no sign of... violence? No indication that she might have..."

"Harmed herself?" Faramir finished. He shook his head. "No. Éowyn asked me about that, but I did not see anything, nor did I think, as troubled as your friend was at times, that she would have done that. She already knew suffering and endured it. Why would she stop now?"

Because Varyar had crushed the last of her hope, Sérëdhiel thought. She did not know if that was true, but she did not want to discount it. She knew her brother. She knew he had sworn never to marry or have children, not after Ogol had claimed him. He would never do that if he believed that Ogol survived, though sometimes she had hoped that Varyar would let go of those doubts and finally live after all these centuries of surviving only to protect them.

"I do not know, but neither do I know why she would leave Ithilien of her own will," Sérëdhiel said, conflicted. She did not think Eruaistaniel would run from them to avoid Firyavaryar, and why should she? Varyar was gone. Yet if she had not gone willingly, where _was _she? Why was there no sign of her being taken? And who would take her?

"Forgive me, I have little understanding of the politics of your situation where you lived, but is it not possible, if Lady Eruaistaniel was to be a part of some kind of shift in power or alliance, that someone would take her to manipulate that again?" Faramir asked. "Your husband was trained as an assassin, I am told, but he is likely not the only one, and someone with his skill could have managed to take her without our notice."

"They would risk Nostalion and Firyavaryar coming against them. Nostalion would find them. Varyar would lay waste to all they had for the crime of touching someone under his protection," Sérëdhiel said. "I had thought they feared that too much to come against us. They have not done so in more than a century."

"Could something have changed? Something that would make them risk it?"

Something had, though she did not know how they would have knowledge of it. Varyar was cured of the poison, and that could have made people think he was less of a threat, but it was not true. He was still a trained fighter, and he had proved that in fighting Legolas.

"It is possible. It still feels unlikely, but it is not impossible. If they somehow learned that Varyar no longer carries poison within him, they might."

"What about his supposed death?"

She shook her head. "No, they know he lives. He made certain that they did. He would not allow them to reclaim Alassë or try and lay claim to her child, nor would he let Eruaistaniel suffer for their schemes, not a second time. He might have concealed it from others, but not those who would take the ones he protected if they thought he was gone."

Faramir nodded. He looked around at the trees and then back at her. "We do not know where they would have taken her, if it was her family."

"We have no one who would be able to lead you there," Sérëdhiel said, watching the man frown. She sighed. "Nostalion was bred to be what he was, and they would want his son if they could get to him, and since I am still nursing him, I cannot go. Alassë is pregnant again and might carry twins which would mean her death. As for Idhrenion... I love my brother, but he gets lost too easily, and even did he not, someone needs to care for Thenidriel when Alassë cannot."

"There must be—"

"The better choice would be to find Nostalion. He would know where Eruaistaniel is, and he would be able to get her back."

Faramir grimaced. "We do not know where your husband has gone. He left, taking the others after your brother, but only he knew where your brother would be, and I do not know that we can divert him from that task—can we?"

"Varyar would tell you to do it, yes. He cares little for his own survival as long as those he protects are safe. He would rather Eruaistaniel be saved than himself. Then again, if the reason my brother is still absent is Ogol, then no, Nostalion cannot be pulled from that because that monster has to be stopped."

* * *

Firyavaryar forced himself out of the darkness, uncertain how he had managed it this time, knowing that he had little desire to be awake. If he was, there was a slight possibility of ending this, but he had long since passed the age where he could hope in small possibilities. He needed something more, something that would finally end this, but he did not know that he could manage that.

He dragged himself up to where he was sitting, looking around. He should have been unconscious for longer, long enough for Ogol to have taken the beast to hunt and returned, carrying him off and arriving at their destination before Varyar woke, but he was still alone, still in the same place as he had been when his eyes shut.

He was almost certain that he was, at least. He leaned back against the rock and groaned. He was weak, and running was impossible. That Ogol had ensured. He would not be surprised if he was not chained to something as well. Ogol had many places where he would attach the chain to the collar that almost never left his neck, scattered them all through his fortress, though most of the time Varyar only saw the throne room and Ogol's private chambers.

He looked around him, watching the tree sway in the breeze. He had left behind his own shadow of a tree—the _onod—_and he assumed that his family was keeping Lothanlass asleep, since he would have come looking for Varyar if he was not.

Firyavaryar almost missed the ent. He would not have thought so, but he had a strange almost fondness for the creature. The _onod _could have carried him away from here, but he had left Lothanlass behind, convinced that he had to come alone. He had been right—he had drawn Ogol out of hiding—and he had needed to be alone to do that, but he was already paying for that choice. He had known he would, but he had hoped to do something more against Ogol.

He was beginning to feel as helpless as he had been when he was an elfling, though, and he could not be helpless, not when he was in Ogol's hands.

Wait.

Trees.

He had overlooked something so simple, so obvious, and yet he knew why he had done it, the same as why Ogol would have ignored it. Firyavaryar was Avari. He did not have the same connection to nature that other elves did. Ogol would not have thought to fear Varyar waking, not knowing that he could not run, but he had forgotten the same thing that Varyar overlooked.

He dragged himself over to the nearest tree. It was not much of a thing, barely a growth, and it could not support his weight, but he had to use it—he could not reach any of the others, not before he lost consciousness again.

"I do not have... time or skill... for this," he said, trying to make himself focus enough to communicate with the tree. He had never been good at this, but he had to try. He drew in a breath, knowing he was a fool.

_I know you are not fond of me. Nature and Avari do not mix, and I know I was more hated when I carried that plague within me, but you do not have to like me to carry the message I am giving you, _Firyavaryar had to grasp at the tree, needing something to keep him conscious for a few moments longer. He would succumb to the herb or his injuries, and this would all be a waste. _The message—for Legolas. Nature loves him. The trees, the air, the land..._

Varyar felt his hand slipping and pulled himself up again._ Tell Legolas—tell him that his friend is in danger. Not me. The king. I do not know the exact details of Ogol's plan—he never shares those with me—but he intends to move against the king of Gondor—against all the _edain. _Tell him... _

He lifted his head, blinking. Had he lost consciousness for a moment? He could not be certain. He felt so weak, so scattered... He did not know if he had done enough yet, if he had said what he needed. He did not think that even if he had all the details the trees could pass that along, did not know how much he was actually telling the tree, but if there was any chance of this getting to Legolas, he needed to do it. He had to tell them not to come.

_Ogol is waiting for him. Them. This is... another trap. That is all I am. Bait._


	13. Unwelcome Revelations

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Thirteen  
Word Count:** 4,803**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note: **So, as promised, Varyar is no longer traveling. Others still are, but that's to be expected.

So... now there is... some explanation. I have been trying hard to find a way into this because back when it came to me, it seemed brilliant (it seems less so now, but I'm thirteen chapters in and have nothing else, so...) and it really didn't want to be introduced, but I think that I have finally found a way into it.

I did skip a part of what happened to Varyar after he got to Ogol's destination, but I will revisit that later, promise, and in exchange... included in this section is one of a rather large part of Ogol's plan and even a name, so... I think that makes up for it.

* * *

**Unwelcome Revelations  
**

"Something ill stirs on the wind," Legolas said, feeling it all around him. At first, he had mistaken it for the pull of the sea, that tenacious longing, for that feeling was never far from him, and whenever he felt a sense of unease, he figured it for the sea longing. It was easier to assume that rather than let it be something else, something more—something that would mean harm coming to someone he cared for. The sea longing could be terrible, but it was only trouble to to him.

"You telling me that's what's with him? Some foul thing on the wind?" Gimli asked, pointing to the assassin that had stopped, again.

Legolas glanced toward Nostalion. He could not say for certain what had the assassin so preoccupied, but he had noticed that he had paused or hesitated far more than he had the first time Legolas saw him work. When Nostalion led them after Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion, he had been focused, so dedicated to reaching them that he and Varyar barely paused to rest and had left the others behind. Legolas did not think it was a lack of dedication that kept him from maintaining the same pace now.

Something else had hold of the tracker, and Legolas thought it had to do with whatever he had sensed from Sérëdhiel earlier. It could have been a more innocent distraction—perhaps it was now clear that Sérëdhiel _did _carry a second child, and if Nostalion could sense that, then he would have reason for this distraction that was almost benign. His family was growing, he was apart from his wife when she was pregnant, and his family could be under threat while he was gone.

Legolas wished he could believe that it was only that. Sérëdhiel being pregnant would be welcome news, a true blessing, though he did not know if the others would agree. They were not ready for a second child, not when her brother was missing and Nostalion had to find him.

"I do not know if it is what disturbs Nostalion. I think his troubles are more personal."

"Personal? While he drags us across Middle Earth after that blasted Firyavaryar?" Gimli shook his head. "He can't have things being _personal _when he's leading us off who knows where and expecting us to follow him without question even when he can't be sure he knows where he's going."

Legolas sighed. "Gimli, please. Nostalion can find Varyar, I believe that, and he is not doing any of this to be malicious—we _asked _him to lead us to Varyar. Estel asked him, not me, and that he wanted to do this, that he thought it was necessary means that it is far beyond anyone's selfish desires. We hunt Varyar, not because he is friend or kin alone, but because he is in the hands of someone who may well be a threat to all Middle Earth."

Gimli grimaced, but he must have held in the rest of his response. Legolas looked around. He thought he should seek out one of the trees and find the source of the disturbance on the wind. That would give Nostalion a moment to work through whatever was troubling him as well as an answer to Legolas' own concerns.

"I am going to ask the trees if—"

"The trees? Are you expecting an ent to jump out of one like they do in Ithilien?"

Legolas gave him a look. "That is not what Lothanlass does, and he does not seem to be a typical _onod. _No, I meant that I was going to—Wait. Someone is coming."

"That wouldn't be a friend of yours, would it?" Estel asked, and Legolas grimaced, aware that he and Gimli had been talking as though they were alone when they were not. "Or is this a threat?"

Legolas smiled. "Well, there _have _been times when you thought so, though I do not know that now is one of those times."

"Indeed, one would hope one's youngest brother would not see one as a threat, but then there have been times when he was one, so I suppose it must be forgiven," Elladan said, stepping into the clinic. "Do you not agree, Elrohir?"

"Yes, indeed."

* * *

"It is almost time," Ogol said. He stopped and turned back to face Firyavaryar. "You remember your part of this bargain, I assume."

Varyar nodded, though he refused to look at the robed figure in front of him. Hatred seethed within him—hating not only the creature that held him but also himself. He had not felt this much loathing for himself since—no, he would not think about that. He did not need to heap more pain and guilt upon his own head. He had enough as it was.

He had known nothing else since he woke again, finding himself in a new prison with new torment, knowing he could do little—what hope he might have had died when he reached this place, and he could not run, could not avoid what was coming. He would have to play his part.

"I did not hear you, pet," Ogol said, grabbing hold of his chin and forcing his head up. "Are you aware of what you must do? You know your behavior must be in accord with our bargain at all times, or I will consider that bargain forfeit, and you know what will happen then."

Varyar pulled out of his hold. "There is no bargaining with you."

Ogol laughed. "If that were true, why would you always be so insistent on trying to do so? You must believe it is possible. You even pride yourself on having fooled me, don't you? You must. It brings some small measure of control back to you, and you so desperately need that, don't you?"

Firyavaryar glared at him. Ogol came around behind him, taking hold of his shoulders. His grip tightened to a painful level, and Varyar tensed but did not attempt to free himself. He knew that he did not dare.

"We can continue to discuss the lies you need to believe to cope, or we can finish what we need to do. You are almost ready for our meeting, but not quite," Ogol said, reaching up to pull back Varyar's hair. "It pleases me to see this has started to grow back. You are fairer with long hair, and I do think that we must be satisfied with that since your eyes refuse to heal."

"Stop it."

"Do you think that it is only your appearance that interests me?"

"I do not want to know what interests you in me," Varyar told him. He knew he needed to know what Ogol's plan was if he was going to stop it, yes, but he did not want to listen to Ogol go on talking this way. Ogol took pride in his "creation," but the talk sickened him, and he did not want to stay still while the creature went on about how he looked.

"Perhaps not, my pet, but you will find that appearances do matter where we are going, and you must do your part in word and deed and so much more. You will need to be everything that I know you can be—and everything that you should be. Most of Draugminaion's alterations were tolerable, even the plague had its uses—especially when it made you weak to storms—but what he did to your eyes is rather unforgivable."

"You said you allowed him to do all that. If you hate it so much, why did you not stop him?"

"You assumed you were safe from others because only I could harm you. That was a bit presumptuous of you, do you not agree?" Ogol asked, leaning into him. "You needed to learn a great deal from Draugminaion, and you did. Now that is passed, and you are mine again to reeducate."

"Is that what we are here for?"

Ogol laughed. "I expect some education will come to you during this visit, but for now, you will be silent and act only when ordered. You know the price of your defiance, and if you fail to uphold our bargain, then I will honor only the promise of pain. You will get that and so much more, pet."

Varyar wished he could ignore that. "I should just kill you."

"You do not win that way," Ogol said. He withdrew two sheaths from under his robe. "Put these on. If you think you can use them on me, you will find yourself—and others—suffer instead, but as appearances matter, you will be armed, and with these fine blades from Thranduil—yes, they are right for the part you will play."

"You expect me to kill someone."

Ogol's only answer was laughter.

* * *

"Estel," Elladan began after the brief amusement that might have come with their jokes on arrival faded. His brother had gone from teasing to sober more quickly than usual. "We are both glad and worried to find you here."

Aragorn frowned, looking at his brothers and trying to understand their behavior. He did not know why they were here, either, nor did he know why they would fear his arrival. "I know I did not tell you or _Ada _that I was coming north, but I did not have time to notify anyone, nor was this excursion planned. We were forced to leave Ithilien without much planning."

"Indeed, that is not a surprise, not considering the message born to us upon the winds of the trees," Elrohir agreed. He looked at Elladan, who nodded. "We had been tracking a group of orcs that were seen near the borders of Imladris—it is still our intention to remove all such creatures from the land—and then as we drew near to what we sought, we were disturbed by the trees, who were themselves shaken with a great distress."

"Firyavaryar."

Aragorn frowned, turning to Legolas. "I know you are worried about your friend, but you do not know that this new disturbance is connected to him or Ogol. It could be more remnants of the shadow emerging. We still do not know that the source of my dreams—if they were any kind of warning or portent—was Firyavaryar or Ogol. It might not have been anything to do with them."

"You cannot insist that it was paranoia alone, not with what we already know," Legolas said. "Estel, Varyar is missing. He was taken by Ogol. We do not doubt this. Gimli doubts that he was taken by force, but even he acknowledges that Firyavaryar is with Ogol now."

"That does not mean that he is the reason the trees were upset."

"Firyavaryar _is _an elf. He may not have a wood elf's talent for it, but he could have talked to the trees if he has any opportunity."

Nostalion snorted. "You assume that Varyar would be in any state to communicate with the trees. I assure you—Ogol would be a fool to allow that, and to have done as much as he has, he cannot be a fool. He is clever enough to continue evading us, and he would not allow Varyar any opportunity to talk to the trees."

"That assumes that he thinks Varyar would," Legolas said. He turned to Aragorn. "Remember, Alassë knew nothing of what I was doing when she traveled with us. It was a skill most Avari never learn, but Varyar did. He would not be likely to tell Ogol of it, and even if Varyar cannot speak to us, the trees will know of his passing. They can tell us more when we are close."

"Ogol kept his fortress a secret for centuries. Even the trees did not carry knowledge of it to anyone. Why would he not use the same methods to conceal himself now?" Aragorn asked, with a bit of guilt. He did not want to argue with Legolas, did not want to take what appeared to be hope from him, but they could not assume that what his brothers had felt was somehow the Avari's doing. "I do not think we can—"

"Estel, the trees carried a warning," Elladan interrupted. He drew in a breath and let it out before speaking again. "When we heard it, we could not ignore it—we had to seek you out and carry its words to you. It did not matter how far we had to come to deliver the message. It _was _necessary."

Elrohir nodded. "They want you to turn back."

"The trees want us to go running home with our tails between our legs? Not this dwarf. I may hate that elf, but I _will _find him. He's got to answer for dragging us all around the land and insulting Lady Galadriel."

Legolas looked at him. Elrohir shook his head. "The message from the trees would be better translated by a wood elf, I fear, but it _was _for you, Estel. It said you should not go further—that it was a trap."

"Oh, aye, laddie. We knew that already. That's what the blasted elf is good at."

"Gimli!"

"I think you are mistaken," Elladan said. "True, we were never as good of friends with Firyavaryar as Legolas was, but he was not the sort to lead anyone into traps, even when he was having revenge upon us for something we did to Idhrenion or when we had annoyed Sérëdhiel too much. Even if he were, the trees would not have been a part of such treachery."

"That is true," Legolas agreed. "When we teased Idhrenion with the 'talking tree,' it was with a dead one because Varyar and I both knew a live one would not help us fool Idhrenion like that. No, Estel, I think that if this warning did come from Varyar—and I do not think it unreasonable to assume that it did—that it is genuine. He does believe he is only bait in a trap for the rest of us."

Aragorn nodded. He could not deny the points that his brothers and Legolas had raised, and so if there was a message, then it might well have been from Firyavaryar. "If Ogol wanted us, though, he could have had us before. We were all there for the taking when Firyavaryar made that bargain with him. Instead, Ogol freed his family and took you. Why would he do that if he wants us all?"

"You were meaningless to him then, but I doubt you are now," Nostalion said. "You are a king now. Before you were a poorly dressed ranger of no account at all."

Aragorn decided to ignore the comment about his former garments. Poor they might have been, but they were more comfortable than the trappings of a king. "So now that I am a king, Ogol would take me—for what purpose?"

"Death." Nostalion shook his head. "That was obvious. You fall, and once more the throne of Gondor will be empty. The land will be in chaos. And do not think your son would not be easily rid of once you were—if not before."

"Has he moved against Ithilien?"

"No. The only one missing from Ithilien is Eruaistaniel."

"Lady Eruaistaniel?" Elladan asked, frowning. "What has happened to her?"

"I do not know," Nostalion answered. "I can tell you where she is not, and I can tell you that she still lives, but why she left Ithilien is not something I can know without being there to track her in the traditional way or by speaking to those that would know."

"You think this is why Sérëdhiel was so anxious?"

Nostalion nodded. "Eruaistaniel is her closest friend. She worries over her, and I do not believe that Eruaistaniel left Ithilien by choice."

"You just said you don't know what happened to her. What is it, then?" Gimli demanded. "Did she leave by choice or do you not know?"

Nostalion glared at him. "She is in a poor state of health. That suggests that she did not leave willingly, but that is all I know."

"If she did not leave willingly, do we assume that Ogol took her, too?" Legolas asked. "I do not know why he would go for her over any of the others—surely he must have more interest in Idhrenion or Sérëdhiel or—forgive me, your son and his daughter."

Nostalion's jaw tightened. "I do not know why he would take her over the others. You assume I know Ogol when the only one who could attempt to understand him is Firyavaryar, who was confused by his actions and frustrated by his inability to understand them. I do not know if he would have taken her. If he did, I would surmise it was so that he could use her to control Varyar."

Aragorn grimaced. The idea of that poor _elleth _enduring more torment was intolerable. They had to find her and free her before she came to further harm. "Are they in the same location? That would tell us if Ogol had her, wouldn't it?"

"Perhaps. It depends on if he was using her for control or not. As it is... No. They are not in the same location."

Legolas studied him, and Aragorn was grateful that his friend seemed to have acquired some means of understanding the assassin enough to interpret some of his unspoken actions for the rest of them. "Where she is worries you. Is it close to where you used to live? Do you think your family might have taken her again?"

"It is possible."

"And if they had her, they would harm her?"

"Yes."

Gimli cursed, loudly, but none of them could disagree with his sentiment this time.

* * *

"The main council meets in three days, and we are having the same argument as always. This is pointless, Caundol—foolish beyond reason. None of those idiots will change their opinion for the good of us all, so we are wasting time."

"Would you rather slaughter ourselves until one side emerges the victor, Melimdur? What point is there in that? There would be nothing left of this _noss, _no one who could stand against the other houses, and all we would do is hand them all we now possess. If we wish to save ourselves, we must come to some kind of accord."

Firyavaryar's head ached with the sound of these voices locked in argument, and for a moment, he wished that he had somehow returned to Alassë and Idhrenion, that he was once again listening to their endless disagreements, but no, this was not their familiar and strangely friendly bickering. These voices were not familiar, nor was the argument anything friendly. Every word was moving them closer to violence.

He did not know them to care, though he did not want to be here when that violence broke out, for he knew that Ogol would expect him to fight. Varyar would be expected to kill them all, and he did not know that he could refuse, even if he wanted to—it was difficult to want to spare such annoying creatures, but he was not a killer. He _had _killed, yes, but he did not do so with any sort of enjoyment.

He reached up to his neck, aware that the collar was gone, but also knowing that if he turned away now, if he attempted to escape, then others would suffer in his place, and that something that he could not allow.

Ogol touched his side under the table, and Firyavaryar forced himself not to react. "It is very nearly time, pet."

Varyar had heard that much already. He felt the weight of the knives on his back and looked at the robed figure beside him. "And if I just killed you instead?"

Ogol laughed. "You know you can't."

"Gurpeth," one of the more annoying voices said, the one belonging to Melimdur, speaking over all of the others. "Perhaps instead of laughing you could do what you are supposedly here to do—advise us. You claim to have something that will end this idiocy, but instead you sit in your dark corner amusing yourself at our expense. Are you working for the other houses, then? Do you want to see us slaughter ourselves?"

"It would perhaps make things simpler," Ogol said, and Varyar frowned, tempted to knock off the wizard's hood. _Gurpeth? _That was the name of the monster that had tormented his family for so long? Impossible. "Yet I have no desire to see you weaken yourselves in such a foolish and unnecessary way. I told you I had a solution. You insisted on arguing instead. It was tedious, but not unexpected. You have resisted my efforts to end this stalemate for centuries now."

"Legally, nothing can end this stalemate other than proof of death," a third elf said, sounding weary, though he also seemed to insist on arguing despite that—and all reason. "Once we know he has no heirs, then his brother takes over as he should have done centuries ago, and this thing is ended."

"And _we _are ended, Velediion," Caundol said. "Suiadan is no leader. He never was, and his taste for dwarvish ale makes him even less of one."

Melimdur snorted. "You say that as if his brother would have been one. He was weak and stupid, just like the rest of them. He should never have been in that position—his cousins were always to be preferred over someone so utterly feeble, but they died, leaving us this mess—"

"I would have some care what you said about Erurainon," Velediion warned. "He was a friend to many here, and until proven otherwise, he should by all rights be our leader."

"Erurainon is dead, and no one mourns such a fool," Melimdur spat. "Let those idiots stop hoping for a dead elf to save them. Even if he was alive, he would lack the strength and the brains to help anyone, even himself."

Firyavaryar glanced toward Ogol, but the robe's hood was down, and he could see nothing of the creature's intent. He assumed they were all supposed to die, though Melimdur was making that task easier for him. He rose. "I would suggest that you follow Velediion's advice and silence yourself. You were annoying me before, but now you are insulting Erurainon, and I take insults to family rather personally."

"You have no say here," Melimdur said, dismissing him immediately. "You might have come with Gurpeth, but that does not give you the right to speak."

"I care nothing for what rights you would bestow upon me as you are an idiot and will not listen to any kind of warning," Varyar said, stepping toward Melimdur and withdrawing a knife, pointing it at the other elf's chest. "Erurainon was not an idiot. He might have liked books more than he liked to fight, but he was also not weak, and if you think he was, then let me show you a bit of what my father taught me. I assure you—you will not survive it."

"Wait," Caundol said, holding up his hands to halt anyone else from moving, trying to stop not only the fight but any that might intervene in it. He came forward, closer to Varyar, trying to look under the hood Ogol had given him. "You claim to be Erurainon's son? Is that true? You are his son? Gurpeth, is this Erurainon's son?"

"I told you I had a solution," Ogol answered, sounding rather smug. He rose, and Varyar wished he was close enough shove the hood off so that he could see the smile when he removed it from the wizard's face by force. "And yes—Firyavaryar is Erurainon's son, his oldest son, in fact."

"But... He cannot be. Erurainon had no children before he disappeared—we would know of them if he did, and he did not."

Ogol crossed the room, pushing back Varyar's hood. "See for yourselves, you great fools. This is obviously Erurainon's son."

Caundol studied Varyar for a moment. "There is a resemblance, but I do not understand. Why is he here instead of Erurainon?"

"Erurainon is dead," Ogol said, gripping Firyavaryar's shoulder in warning. He was not allowed to tell these other elves that Ogol had murdered his parents. He understood that, but he was still tempted.

"Dead?"

"Yes. He has been, I understand, for centuries."

Velediion watched Varyar carefully. "Is this true? How did Erurainon come to die, then?"

"My mother... died," Firyavaryar answered, ignoring the grip on his shoulder and everything screaming at him to plunge the blade into the being behind him. "My father followed her not long after. It was a long time ago."

"So Erurainon dies, and not only are we supposed to believe that, we are also supposed to accept this little upstart as our leader now?" Melimdur demanded. "Never. I refuse to acknowledge this farce. You think you can grab any elf out of the trees and have him claim to be of Erurainon's line and make us follow him, but you are wrong. We will not—"

"I believe, as little as you care for your distant kin, that the masters of Imladris and Lothlórien would all attest to the veracity of Firyavaryar's claim," Ogol said, sounding amused as usual. "The king of Greenwood himself gave Varyar the knife he now points at your throat, and do not think him incapable of using it. He is rather a skilled warrior, as I have had the pleasure of witnessing on several occasions."

Firyavaryar threw the hand off his shoulder and drew the other blade, pointing it toward Ogol. "I do not enjoy being tricked, _Gurpeth. _And you are a fool to think I want any part of this stupidity. I cannot imagine anyone making my father their leader, but I would not lead this disagreeable rabble to the nearest privy."

"It matters little what you think you want. Being their leader is your right by birth. You are Erurainon's heir, and that means all that was his is yours. You were led to believe it was much less than it was, but welcome to the true house of Firyavaryar, not that unworthy shack that your other kin were forced to cede to you, but the true glory of what you are—what you have always been. This is your _noss, _and you will lead it," Ogol assured him. He laughed. "Do you not understand, Varyar? They are all your family, and I know what family means to you. I know what you will do for family, for those under your protection—and they are _all _under your protection now."

Firyavaryar felt sick. It made so much twisted sense—the way Ogol went on about him being a leader, the way it was always about what he _was—_he had intended to kill his father's family off until he made his father the leader, and then Erurainon, too, was allowed to die, leaving Varyar as heir to all this, and by tricking Varyar into revealing that Erurainon was his father, Ogol had gotten him to claim all of it.

He was an idiot, and he was more trapped now than he had ever been before.

"They will not be your army. They are too disorganized for that."

Ogol almost purred when he got close enough to speak into Varyar's ear. "You are their leader. You will make them ready. You will make them anything I say you will—or you will be responsible for all their deaths."


	14. The Weight of Obligation

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Fourteen  
Word Count:** 4,981**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note: **I admit that I made up all of this stuff about Avari politics. I totally abused the idea of Avari to my own ends, which I suppose Ogol did as well, and I pulled from various ideas and systems but didn't really follow any of them, just enough to create what I did here. It fits, sort of, and it did seem to me, when I thought of it, the best explanation for why Ogol was using Varyar specifically.

The dangers of his choice are, of course, obvious, as Varyar points out in this section, but Ogol has planned this for some time, so he has contingencies, as he also points out. That might make it all a stalemate...

* * *

**The Weight of Obligation**

"How does it feel to rule by fear?"

Firyavaryar shook Melimdur's blood off his knife, taking his new seat at the head of the room. "While I am certain that you enjoy it, I do not."

"Is that so?" Ogol asked, leaning against the chair, once again amused. "I thought that was how you acquired your previous position. You made Meligur so afraid of you that he would not come after the others, and they preferred your tyranny to his, but you were still one who held position by fear."

"You understand nothing," Varyar muttered, turning the knife over with disgust. None of this should have been necessary—he did not want this birthright, but it _was _his, and it should not have been denied him. He should not have had to leave Melimdur on the ground bleeding and likely dead for them to be silent on the matter.

"My lord," Caundol began, taking a hesitant step toward them. "I would—that is—as it seems the issue of succession is finally settled, perhaps we should discuss some of the other issues that have been unresolved while we were unable to agree upon leadership."

"Ah, the peasants have a list of petty concerns for you," Ogol said. "Tell us, Lord Firyavaryar, what will your answer to them be?"

"Gurpeth," Varyar began, smiling. "You are no longer welcome here. If this is my house to oversee as I wish—and everyone now agrees that it is, even you—I decide who is welcome within it and who is not. And you never will be again."

"You cannot force me to leave. I have advised this house and others since well before you were born."

"That may be true, but I do not care for how you manipulated me into this position. I do not enjoy being tricked, and those that would try—well, they can meet the same fate as Melimdur or they can leave. What is your choice, Gurpeth?"

Ogol leaned close, hissing out a warning in the dark speech of Mordor, and Varyar grimaced. Damn that bargain, the leverage—he could not sustain this, and yet if he did not, he would lose what control he had gained over the _nos__s__._

"Shall we remove him, my lord?"

"What you will do is stop calling me that," Varyar told the elf who had spoken. He did not know that one's name. He looked at Ogol pointedly. "If you thought that putting me in this chair would somehow make me pliable to your will, you were very much mistaken. My path was not one that Elrond or Galadriel could see, and it is not yours to dictate. If I am to lead these people, I will do it as I choose. I do not care for your commentary, nor is it necessary. If you remain, you will do so only because I feel enough blood has already been spilled. Do we understand each other?"

Ogol spat at him in the dark tongue again, and Varyar nodded. Oh, they understood each other. He would suffer for this later, and he could not know how many others would as well, not yet.

"Very well. What other issues are there to be addressed?"

"Perhaps you are tired and should rest before taking on these additional responsibilities," Velediion suggested. "We do not have to settle everything today."

Caundol snorted. "Will you now turn coward? We cannot leave these matters for some distant day. We meet with the rest the other _nost, _and if they sense any weakness in us, they will use it, just as they have every time we met with them since our leadership was thrown into confusion."

"At least one of them is suffering from the same problem. Since Nithil died, no one can agree on who should lead them. Most of the lines are down to some female relation, which leads to many claims being rejected and—"

"The concerns that affect this _noss _should be heard now. I do not care what the other _nost _do. They can kill themselves if they like," Varyar said, annoyance creeping into his voice. He hated politics. He had defied Meligur because it was necessary, not because he wanted to be a leader. He did not.

"Very well. We should discuss the matter of housing..."

Firyavaryar glared at Ogol, wishing again that the sorcerer had killed him long ago.

* * *

"I do not know that you are wise to ignore this warning, Estel," Elladan began as the twins traveled beside him. "It came specifically for you, and while I know you are not close to Firyavaryar, he would not allow anything to harm those Legolas cares for. He warned you, and that he did so, that he would—I fear it is a sign we are headed toward something that may well claim your life. You have done much that defied death, and perhaps that was too much."

"You do not seem as concerned for your safety as you should be," Elrohir agreed. "We are not trying to lecture you, but none of us know what we are heading into, and the warning told us—you—to turn back. Perhaps you should be listening."

Aragorn grimaced. He loved his brothers, he did, but he did not want to argue about this. He had made his decision, and it was far from rash. Rash would have been deciding that Firyavaryar could rot in whatever mess he had gotten himself into, that he could die and Aragorn wouldn't care. He half didn't, other than knowing that Legolas would not take it well if his friend died.

Between grief and the sea longing, Legolas would probably sail if Firyavaryar died. Aragorn might have other, more selfish reasons for wanting to find and return Firyavaryar, but he knew how Legolas had taken the other elf's "death," and he did not want to see that again.

"It is not that I ignore the warning," Aragorn said. "I heard it, and I know Legolas would like to get closer to the source and hear all that he might from the trees that originally received the message, but I know enough already to know that I am supposedly under threat."

"All of you are, though I think of all, you are the most at risk. Ogol would have the most reason to see you dead. I suppose he would feel that the dwarf is not worth bothering over, and we know he took Legolas and tormented him before, but we know he wants elves for his army. He does not want dwarves or men, and you would be in opposition to him."

Aragorn almost laughed. "You two are the sons of Elrond. Do you think you would not be as well? You would be expected to fight at your father's side against Ogol."

"I think rather they—and I—would all be leverage," Legolas said, and Aragorn frowned as he turned to look at him. He did not know when the elf had separated himself from the dwarf and come closer to their group, nor was he entirely certain that Legolas should have. He still remained the one thing blocking Nostalion from harming Gimli, even though the dwarf _had _been quieter since he learned of Eruaistaniel's disappearance and the likelihood of her torment. That _elleth _was not Galadriel, but she was still so timid and a bit skittish that it was wrong to all to hear of someone harming her. She had harmed no one and did not deserve that.

"Leverage? It would draw your father against him in battle to free you."

"Would it?" Legolas asked. "I do not doubt my father's love for me or his own pride, but I cannot say that he would be entirely selfish in the matter. He would not send all his people to death for my sake alone. That is not the way of a king. It is the way of a father, but mine has always walked that path that is between them, and more often I think he acted as king than he did as father."

"As much as we all love and esteem _Ada _and as much as he is not a king, we would have to agree that he acts much the same," Elladan agreed. "Even you would, Estel. It would not be a simple matter to rouse all armies—what we have as many elves have sailed already—to go against something like this, some unknown threat. I do not know that many would think Ogol worth our concern."

"He is not an unknown threat. He took Legolas before."

"True," Legolas said. "Yet we know nothing of Ogol's plans or his army other than what little we have seen since he took Varyar—there are still some orcs under his command, though many died—and he had some means of moving at great speed—and now Varyar sends word that it is a trap. We do not know how Ogol would accomplish this other than using Varyar for bait, which we can see is effective. We are still walking right into that trap."

Aragorn grimaced. "What else would you have us do?"

* * *

"How do you control a ruler on his throne?"

"Be the ruler," Varyar answered, not looking over at Ogol. They had given him dozens of reports, and he had ordered them all out of the room so that he could think to read them, but he was aware that he had not understood a word of them, not with Ogol standing over his shoulder. He could not concentrate, and he swore he could feel that collar around his neck even though he knew it was not there. He knew it had been taken off for the appearances Ogol wanted—he needed everyone thinking that he was not behind all the deaths that lead to Erurainon being the leader, that he had not hidden Erurainon's heir from them all along, and that Varyar was free to lead them.

It did not matter that it was gone. He still felt as though it were there.

"Come now," Ogol said, reaching to touch Firyavaryar's hair and getting him to shudder. "One does not need to be on the throne to control it. There are so many other methods. Some would use magic. That foolish king of the Rohirrim was almost overthrown that way. There are those who use their wiles, exploiting certain weaknesses of the flesh to gain power. Some are queens. Others do not need that position."

"You should be glad you do not. No one would willingly enter your bed," Varyar told him, leaning forward and pulling his hair out of Ogol's grasp.

Ogol laughed. "You are as wrong about that as you are everything, pet."

"And you are as foolish about this as you are everything," Firyavaryar countered. He looked back with a slight smile. "Tell me, how long do you think you can control all of this? You have some leverage now, but it will not last. How long will it be before I turn these people against you? I can, and perhaps I should just do it now. You intend to take them to their deaths fighting against the kingdoms of men and their allies, and so why should I not make them fight what little is left of your orcs instead? Why should they not overthrow you as Sauron was overthrown?"

"You will not lead them against me because you know you cannot. You gave yourself over into my service years ago, and you cannot leave it. You have had this foolish notion about dying for a while now, but I should remind you—you are not Erurainon's only child. I could use your sister or your brother for this role I have given you. Or, perhaps, better still, I could use one of their children."

Varyar leapt from his chair, going for the wizard's throat. "You will not touch any of them. You will leave Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion and their children alone. They are not yours to take, and you are not going to kill them just to have access to their children. You will not do to them what you did to me."

Ogol dodged the attack, catching hold of Varyar's wrist and twisting it so that he could not hold onto his knife. "You have no means of stopping me from using them. If I decide you are unsuited to the role I have made you for, you will be dead and unable to save any of your family. I will use any of them as I see fit. This kingdom I have made for you is yours only as long as you serve me. Defy me, and I will find another to use."

Firyavaryar yanked his hand free, pointing the blade at Ogol. Everything ached again—he had forgotten how weak he was after fighting the orcs and the torture Ogol had given him as a reminder—and he did not know that he could stand for much longer. "We are more than bloodlines. If you understood that, you would never have tried for this."

Ogol pushed the blade down, stepping close and grabbing hold of Varyar's neck, squeezing it in his hand as he leaned into his ear. "You are nothing but a tool to me, and a tool is either useful or useless. Erurainon and Calathiel had a sufficient number of children for me to use, and your insistence on letting your siblings live their lives 'free' has resulted in them having children that can be exploited if need be. You stand between them and me for now, leveraged as you are, but even my fondness for you has its limits, pet. Defy me, and your family will all perish except the child I choose to use—and remember, this _noss _is also your family. You are responsible for all of them. I can take the least members of it or the greatest, and as I know what you were willing to give me for someone who was a stranger with no blood ties to you—oh, you will not let me have my pick of these to torment. You will find something to bargain with. That bargain is your service, as you know well."

Varyar knew Ogol's words were like poison, and he wanted to shut them out, not to listen to them because he was growing weaker with each one. "You do not have the means to destroy all of them. If I turned them against you—"

"You have just killed ten children of your _noss _for that suggestion. I do not think you should think about it again."

"No. You could not have done that from—"

"And you will kill more if you continue to be stubborn," Ogol said, taking the knife from his hand. "You know I am not so foolish as to bring you here and give you this without having a means to ensure your cooperation. If you thought those I showed you were the only ones who would come to harm, you were mistaken. I do not care much for the children of the _noss, _they are not old enough to be of use, but you have a weakness for them, and you would not want to see any come to harm. Any more, that is, for you have already seen to it that ten have died."

"You are evil," Varyar whispered, knowing of no way to stop this. If he tried to deny what Ogol claimed, if he was wrong about that being a lie, then more would die, and he did not know if he could trust that it was only a lie. Ogol had magic. He could kill from a distance, and he would have had prisoners ready to execute for Firyavaryar's defiance.

"So you named me," Ogol said, his voice sickeningly warm with affection. "Come, pet. You should see to the distribution of the food at least."

Varyar wondered if he could find a way to justify letting all of this _noss _die, if that was worth it if he was finally able to stop Ogol. "I will kill you."

"Yes, you've said that before," Ogol agreed, "but you have failed every time, and you will in your next attempt."

"No." Firyavaryar reached for his other blade, but then he faltered, dizzy, grabbing hold of the chair to steady himself. "What did you do?"

"Oh, pet. Did you think that the softness of it was the only reason I play with your hair?" Ogol laughed. "No, indeed. It is so easy to subdue you that way."

Varyar cursed and almost fell into the seat, telling himself that when this passed, he would get up again and fight again. He would not let Ogol control all these people through him. There had to be some way to undo this, to free all of them from his hold.

* * *

"Drink this."

Nostalion looked up with a glare aimed at the elf who offered him the drink, but Elladan was not one who feared him, even if perhaps he should. As Elrond's son, he was used to treating difficult patients, and Legolas did not doubt that he would be as stubborn with the assassin as he was with any of those others.

"You cannot help your family if you never stop for your own needs," Elladan insisted, holding the water closer to the other elf. "Drink it. You need your strength. You have stopped, yes, since we have joined your company, but I have yet to see you rest."

Nostalion shook his head. "I do not want your care, nor will you poison me with your herbs. You may offer in kindness, but you have no understanding of my physiology and will blind my senses with your attempts to aid. Leave me be."

"It is only water, and even you need it," Elrohir said. "You are fatigued and undernourished, and that will not help anyone, regardless of your physiology. You may have been turned into a specialized tracker, but that does not make you less of an elf."

Nostalion grunted. "I do not need your assistance."

Legolas sighed. "You sound much like Varyar does when he is injured or upset. You have had to use your ability for longer than we expected, and it has seemed to do you ill, this continued use. I have to wonder—is it Eruaistaniel? Is what you get from her pulling too hard against what you have to drag out from Varyar?"

Nostalion glared at him, but Legolas thought that glare meant that he was right, not that he was annoying the elf again. He took the water from Elladan and passed it to Nostalion.

"We have been discussing the warning we believe Varyar gave us. He said not to come because it was a trap."

Nostalion sipped from the water. "That is not impossible. It is perhaps even likely."

"We do not know what we go into with Ogol, where he has Varyar and what resources he has to fight against us," Legolas went on. He took a breath. "However, if Eruaistaniel is in the hands of your family, then you know what resources to expect. You know how to counter them."

Nostalion frowned. "You wish to turn aside from the threat to all of you and go after my cousin? Why? She is nothing to you."

Legolas shook his head. "That is not true. None of us know her well, but she is Sérëdhiel's friend and part of Varyar's family. Even were she not, she would not be nothing. If you must have a practical reason for our diversion—it is because you are too distracted knowing that she is elsewhere. You cannot focus on both of them, but we could perhaps save her more easily, and we are not unwilling to do so. Lead us to her. Prepare us for what is coming. We will aid you."

Nostalion looked away. Legolas waited. He did not want to push, and he knew if there was a reason why they had to go on to Varyar first, Nostalion would tell them. He was worried about their friend, about Varyar, but he cared about Eruaistaniel as well and would like to help her. They should have gone to her as soon as they knew she had been taken.

"We are all agreed upon this," Estel added, looking at Gimli and then back at Nostalion. "We will go to Eruaistaniel and free her from your family. You need only tell us how and where to go."

Nostalion looked back at them. "You know the treachery and deceit of the shadow, of Mordor and Sauron and others like him. Yet you are unprepared for the kind of darkness that has taken hold inside that _noss. _Meligur dealt with slavers before, sold family to them, but that is only a minor one of his crimes."

"You just tell me which one deserves my axe," Gimli said. "I'll make sure the elf gets it."

To Legolas' surprise, Nostalion laughed.

* * *

"My lord Firyavaryar," Velediion's voice drew Varyar out of his daze, pulling him back to himself. His head ached, a familiar sensation from his time with Ogol—he rarely knew where he was or what he was doing, and that latest revelation about what Ogol did while pulling on his hair was not as much a surprise as it was something he had no counter for, not at present. It only proved that the collar was not as necessary as he had believed before. "We can prepare a chamber for you for the night if you wish."

"It was a long journey, however, I have made my own home open to your lord, and he will continue to reside with me," Ogol said, and Varyar would have glared at him if he was strong enough. "At least until you build him something more suitable."

"I do not need a palace, _Gurpeth. _Nor do I want one."

"No, but I know you wish to have your family with you, and you will need suitable accommodation for them as they are increasing," Ogol said, his voice full of delight and malice at the same time. He knew Alassë was pregnant. Varyar did not know how—no, perhaps he did. He lowered his head, knowing he could not fight this.

"Forgive me, my lord. You made no mention of your family. I did not know that we needed prepare room for you and your bonded and children."

"I do not have—"

Ogol's grip came down hard on his shoulder, tightening enough to where Varyar should have cried out. "Firyavaryar has no children at present, but I expect that to change soon. It is his duty to ensure succession and prevent the _noss _from falling into chaos again."

Varyar yanked himself out of Ogol's hold. He had no intention of fathering children for Ogol to use, and he knew that was one thing the wizard could not force him to do, not even for all this _noss _he threatened. "I will not have a child out of duty alone."

Ogol ignored him, addressing Velediion instead. "Firyavaryar has finished a preliminary redistribution of the food. It is equitable, if overgenerous in my opinion."

"You would have let everyone starve," Varyar muttered. He forced himself to his feet. "I will finish these other tasks later, Velediion. My plans for the housing will anger many, of that I am certain."

Velediion nodded. "Nevertheless, you will be obeyed."

"Melimdur is dead, then."

"Yes, my lord."

"See to it that he is buried properly." Varyar could not do anything else for the elf, nor could he allow any sort of great kindness toward the family of an elf that had opposed him. He would, if they asked for pardon, but not without that. He was too weak otherwise. "Is there anything else that needs immediate attention?"

"No, my lord, I believe we have seen to all except—"

The doors to the chamber banged open, and a distressed elf stumbled in, tripping over his robe. The colors were different from Velediion's, which now seemed more ornamental than Varyar had realized when he first saw the clothes of the elves in the chamber—he had ignored all but what he could not—their squabbling."

"It _is _true. You have a new leader."

Firyavaryar sighed. He did not want to see anyone else today, nor did he want to be called leader again, ever, even if that was what he was.

"I do not know who told you this, but you know you are not welcome here, Yalaserien," Velediion said, trying to block the other elf's path. "You trespass, and you should not do so, not when you know the consequences. Whatever you wish to discuss can be addressed at the meeting that all _nost _agreed to. You need not—"

"You know how it is amongst the _nost. _Word spreads as though carried on the wind itself. You could not expect to keep this news secret. I know that you have a new leader. I heard also that this leader knew of Erurainon's fate," Yalaserien interrupted, pushing past him. "Is that true? Do you know what happened to him?"

"I did not witness it, but I know of it, yes," Firyavaryar answered. He looked over the other elf, wanting the ache in his head to end. He did not know why he felt so weak again, but he assumed that Ogol had done it, perhaps when he touched his shoulder. He would need to keep Varyar weak, would need some kind of measure against the power Firyavaryar had now that this _noss _followed him.

"Then you might have word of Calathiel," Yalaserien said. "She went missing at the same time—almost the same time—as Erurainon, and there are some that have thought that their disappearances were somehow connected—"

"If you have come here, again, to blame Calathiel's disappearance on Erurainon, you may find yourself dead. Melimdur did not survive the wound he caused himself by insulting Erurainon," Velediion warned.

Varyar found himself laughing. The idea of his father doing anything to harm his mother was absurd. He had never been able to see her the slightest bit unhappy. He did all to please her that he could, and their devotion to each other was almost pathetic to his mind.

"Do you think this is amusing?" Yalaserien demanded. "Fine. Laugh if you must, but tell me if you know anything of her condition."

"I would say she caused Erurainon's death, except that we were told—"

"She did."

The other elves stared at him. Yalaserien recovered first, having indignant anger to motivate him into speech. "She would not. How dare you claim that she would harm Erurainon. She was not the one to take sides in this stupid feud. She would not have harmed anyone, and you are a liar for saying she did. You claim that only to cause division and pain, but she was not the sort to hurt others."

"No, indeed, that is very true. She did not like to see others suffer," Varyar agreed. He sighed, reminded of his sister and how much she was like their mother. "She would rather have healed wounds than cause them, much as she knew well how to fight."

"How can you say that and yet claim she killed Erurainon? That is absurd."

"No, it is not. She would never have harmed him, no, but when she was murdered, he followed quickly after her. His grief for her killed him, so yes, in some sense, she did cause his death, though she would never have wanted it," Firyavaryar said, rubbing at his head. "There. You have your answer. She is dead, too. Trouble me no more with questions of her. I do not wish to remember that."

"Why would Erurainon follow her in grief? And how do you know anything of her fate?"

Varyar looked over at Velediion. "You irritate me. Why must everything I say be questioned? Yes, she is dead. Yes, I know that without question—I saw her die. Since I was with her, I did not see my father pass, but it happened not long after, that I do know."

"Wait," Yalaserien said. "You are not... You are Erurainon's son?"

"Yes."

"And he followed Calathiel in grief—they were bonded."

"Yes."

"And you are Calathiel's son?"

"Yes."

"You cannot be," Velediion and Yalaserien both said, and Varyar swore if he did not leave now, he would kill both of them. He was tired, frustrated, and he knew that as much as Ogol was enjoying this, more suffering was to come.

"I am," Firyavaryar said. He started to rise and then sat back down again. "No. That stupid story they told us—they were from two opposing _nost. _They were enemies and their marriage would not have been approved—that was—I came to assume that was a lie, but it was true. It was—You said earlier that the lines were down to female relations—do not say it. Do not—"

"As Calathiel's eldest son, you are her heir as well. That would make you the head of both _nost."_

It was always about what he was, Varyar thought. Ogol had told him that, but he had never understood until now—and it made a terrible sense after that damned vision in the pool. His parents had been taken to create him, a child that had the blood to bind both houses under his will.

Firyavaryar cursed in the black tongue, and Ogol laughed.


	15. Duties and Deaths

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Fifteen  
Word Count:** 3,438**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** So... I wanted to do a few things with this chapter and likely succeeded with none of them. I had decided to push back what I had originally intended for this chapter to the next. I had in mind drawing out some suspense. I also attempted to get back to the wildest dreams part of the whole thing, which led to me including some dreams/memories for Firyavaryar again. This first meeting with him and Ogol is not quite what I think I had in mind, so there's a failure there, but then again, since Ogol is that kind of twisted and creepy, this is probably not their first meeting, just the first meeting that Varyar remembers.

And both of the scenes that weren't Varyar's were Legolas, which was another small goof, but it works better to have him do them, I think.

Maybe.

* * *

**Duties and Deaths  
**

"Nana,_ I don't want to go trade," Firyavaryar said, knowing he sounded younger than he was when he said it, though there was no other way of saying those words than the way he had. He did not want to go. His parents had been treating him differently since his mother got that damned promise out of him, and he was growing more uncomfortable by the day. Sometimes he thought they were trying to teach him everything they did—as though he were somehow to become one of them or they intended to leave him and his siblings alone, and he did not believe they would leave, but it was so strange._

_They did not explain why he had to do all these things they were teaching him—his father was making him train swords and knives with him when he knew he would rather be reading to Idhrenion, and his mother had stopped Sérëdhiel's lessons on herbs to instruct him._

_He was confused and frustrated, and he did not want to do this. Any of it. He had always cared for his brother and sister, and he did not need more lessons to do that, so if that was the promise they wanted, why was what he did not enough?_

"_You are growing too much," _Nana _said, ignoring his words. She put her hands on his face and studied him. "So little time..."_

"_Time for what?"_

_She shook her head, smiling at him. "I am being foolish. It is too soon, but never too soon for you to know the kind of food you need to get for the family."_

"_Are you dying?"_

_She laughed. "Varyar, we are elves. We are immortal."_

"_Immortals who can die," he corrected, frowning because he did not understand that concept at all. Immortal should have meant that no death at all was possible. "And it's only recently that we were elves and not just... us."_

_She combed his hair back behind his ear. "We were always elves. It was other's perceptions of us that changed what that meant, not what we are or what we did. We are the same."_

"_No, we're not. You are acting strange and so is _Ada, _and I do not like this. I feel as though something terrible looms over us, and it is coming, always coming, closer and closer and there is no stopping it. I feel as though it will catch us all, and we will never see the end to its darkness."_

_She frowned, studying his face. "Are you seeing visions?"_

"_I don't believe in visions."_

"_They happen for some elves and—"_

"_Not me," he insisted, pulling away from her. "I am anxious and agitated because you and_ Ada _have made me that way. You are afraid under all these smiles and your laughter, and you look at each other like something fearful is going to happen at any moment, and you have been teaching me things that I do not want to know—_Nana, _please. What is this? Why are you doing all of this?"_

"_Firyavaryar," she said in that tone that showed her displeasure. "You are not a child. Always you have acted older than your years, and you do not need to be petulant now."_

"_Then tell me why you are doing this to me. What is it you are so afraid of?"_

_She winced. "Oh, Varyar, I hope you never know."_

_His stomach twisted, and he did not think that he could escape that fear, that fate she saw ahead of him, and knowing that made him sick. He turned away from her, turning deeper into the marketplace, passing _edain _and other races, not caring to interact with anyone._

_He came to rest against a building, shaking his head. He did not want to hurt his mother, and he would not abandon his family, but a part of him said he should run. He should leave, now, before that darkness and their fears overtook him._

"_You seem to be lost, young one."_

_Firyavaryar almost jumped when he heard the voice. The trader had appeared from nowhere, far too close to his side for his liking. He shook his head. "I'm not lost."_

"_We don't get many elves here."_

"_So this little elf must be lost?" Varyar snorted. "Shows what you know. I am taking a moment away from my mother, and I am not one bit lost. Now leave me be. I have no interest in anything you are selling."_

"_You do not know what I am selling," the trader said, moving even closer to him. "How would you like to escape your mother forever?"_

"_And what? Let you seduce me because you think a boy elf is so pretty that you're going to give up human women?" Firyavaryar laughed. "I'm not an idiot, nor am I naïve enough to wander off with strangers promising adventure or freedom. I am not going to become your latest trade, and what innocence I have, I will keep, thank you."_

_He turned to leave, and the trader grabbed for him. He dodged the hands, using what training he did have to evade his grip and rejoining the throng of the marketplace, needing to find his mother and get far away from this place._

_He knew he had not wanted to trade._

* * *

"Can you explain Avari politics?"

Nostalion looked over at Estel as though the man were an idiot, and Legolas did not know that the question did not suggest that perhaps his friend was not thinking before he spoke. No politics were simple, not those of elves, of men, or even dwarves. Avari politics would be equally as complicated. They shifted based on circumstances and needs, by the people who were involved and their individual ambitions.

"A king that needs politics explained to him? I think I fear for the realm of Gondor, truly I do," Elrohir said, and Elladan smiled. Estel glared at both of them in turn as Gimli chuckled.

Estel sighed. "I meant the political climate, the way things work within his family. What should we expect? Can we negotiate with anyone for her release or do we have to get her by force? Who among your family would have taken her and why?"

Nostalion looked at him. "You ask for history that is long and complicated and unknown to me. I have never been at the center of my family, nor do I have any wish to be. What I know of it has been dictated by what my father and trainers told me, and Varyar believes that all of that was lies."

"Was it all lies?"

Nostalion grunted. "Truth belongs to the individual. A great many lies are made into truth by belief alone."

Legolas blinked, surprised by the other elf's almost philosophical statement. Varyar had surprised him with profound thoughts in the past, and it should not have been so impossible to believe that Nostalion might have some as well, but he thought they were all shocked by it.

"That is... very true and very perceptive as well," Elladan agreed. Elrohir nodded next to him. "Tell us, then, what truths pertain to Eruaistaniel."

Nostalion looked out into the distance. "Eruaistaniel once started a war."

"A war?"

The assassin nodded. "She was betrothed to an elf named Tegalad. He was supposed to lead the family, but he was killed. She was held by alternating sides that wanted power until a third group gained control. When that happened, she was... no longer useful."

"And that's when she suffered, was it? That's when she was tortured?"

Nostalion nodded. "More or less. She was handed off to slavers that did that part, though some may have happened before she was given to them. She has not spoken of what happened. I know what I saw when we found her. I believe she told Sérëdhiel and Varyar more. I do not know."

"Why Firyavaryar? You're family. He isn't."

"For exactly that reason," Nostalion answered. "She thought I was there to carry out the will of the family, and that terrified her. Varyar was the one to calm her and lead her out—did you think she sought him only because she loved him? No. That came later. She knew he had defied my family, and she trusted that more than she trusted me."

Legolas thought he understood that, though he did not know that they would ever truly know what it was like for any of them before they joined Firyavaryar and became part of his family, not when the Avari held back details and secrets alike.

"Does that third group still hold power in your family?"

Nostalion nodded. "Yes, as of the time we left there. Meligur had regained control and maintained it for over a century."

"No one opposed him?"

"Firyavaryar did."

Estel frowned. "Would anyone have followed him?"

Nostalion laughed. "I did."

"Anyone _else?"_ Estel asked, a bit too obvious with his annoyance, though Legolas agreed it was not easy to get answers from the assassin. "And by anyone I do not mean Alassë or Eruaistaniel."

"Despite the plague he carried and his appearance, Varyar could have split the _noss _down the middle if he had wanted to. He did not. He hates politics."

* * *

_His mother's last scream cut off as her life ended, and Firyavaryar's eyes clouded as he struggled to get free of the foul creatures holding him, but he could not free himself from their hold, weakened as he was. He had tried to fight, but his fight was for nothing. He had been captured long before they started to toy with his mother, before they did unspeakable things to her body, things that continued even now that she had passed beyond life._

_His eyes went across to the being that had watched it all with such cold hatred, the one that had tried to trick him when they were in the village. He had not trusted the trader, and he knew now that he was right not to, but what good did such knowledge do him? _

_His mother was dead._

"Lord Firyavaryar?"

He jerked, uncertain if he had fallen asleep because of the pain or if Ogol had given him more herbs of some kind, but he pulled away from the hands and tried to ignore the concerned looks. So many people were watching him, and to them he was certain that he must seem insane.

"What is it?"

"My lord," Velediion said, and Varyar wondered if he always simpered like this or if it only seemed worse because he had now spent two days listening to the elf go on in this way. He should not have killed Melimdur. "I do not think you are quite well. You have been distant, and we have asked you questions you do not respond to, and you seem to have been... either asleep or unconscious these past few moments. If you are unwell—"

"What I am is tired of this subject," Varyar said, irritated. He rose, uncertain where Ogol was in the crowd, but he knew he was being watched even if the creature was not right beside him. He rubbed his forehead and then his neck. "We are not discussing my mother further."

"My lord," Yalaserien began, "you must understand that we have many questions about your mother and your father and how any of this is possible—"

"When I think of my mother I see her as I last saw her," Varyar said, aware he had the attention of everyone in the chamber, regardless of how they had been squabbling a moment before. "I see her torn apart and set upon by orcs that were defiling her body as I could do nothing but watch, knowing that my father felt her pain and would follow her in death. That we all would."

Caundol swallowed. "Forgive me, my lord, but you are—"

"Not dead? Yes, I know. My mother's killer had other uses for me, and we are not going to discuss them, either. No more questions about my family. My parents are dead. That topic is pointless. I honestly do not care if you do not want me as your leader. I do not want to lead any of you."

"Now that is your frustration speaking," Ogol said, and Varyar grimaced as he approached, putting his hands on Firyavaryar's shoulders. "You are understandably upset by having to relive such terrible memories, and no one should make you do that. Their curiosity is inappropriate and unnecessary. You told them what they needed to know. Erurainon and Calathiel are dead. Before their deaths, though, they gave us you, and that is all we need."

"Stop touching me," Varyar said, cringing. "I do not want you or your poisoned speech. I do not want to be bothered by politics, and I do not want to remember. I sound like a spoiled child, but I have not been a child for centuries."

"No, you have not," Ogol agreed. "Sit down again. The meeting will be confined to those matters that pertain to the _nost _and must be seen to before the great meeting with all the other _nost."_

Firyavaryar pulled away from him. "I told you not to touch me."

Ogol did not apologize. "Let us focus the meeting on the most important matters. Yalaserien, aside from your demands to know all the details of Calathiel's death, do you have matters to put before your leader?"

"We have," Caundol said. He cleared his throat. "My lord, not long after we began the redistribution of the food as you ordered, we found... Some of our children were killed. We do not know the sort of creature who could have done such a thing to them—this was not the work of wolves or other predators in the forest. Not even orcs are like this."

Ogol had set the fell beast on those children. "You monster. You used the fell beast."

"My lord?"

"As you know, Velediion, Firyavaryar has traveled much of Middle Earth and seen many things. As I understand it, there was a fell beast that once hunted him, and I believe he thinks that such a creature is the only sort to have done such a terrible thing to your children—"

"I know _exactly _what did that to the children and it was—"

"You are overexcited," Ogol said, crossing around behind him, leaning into his ear. "Their death was your decision, and you may think you can reveal where that fell beast came from, but you do not have the control you need yet. Not all will believe you, and there are still many more than those here that I can harm while you try and persuade them."

"You cannot hide your sins forever. I will not be silenced with threats for eternity," Varyar warned, aware of something pricking his side. "I am not the one losing control here. You are."

"That is your delusion, as always, pet, but take comfort in it while you can. If you cannot keep yourself in the present, you cannot lead, and you continually thinking you can defy me is going to cause these people even more pain than you have already brought them."

Varyar let out a breath. "The are elves, you idiot. What makes you think they did not hear all of what we have said?"

Ogol laughed in his ear, and Firyavaryar shuddered.

* * *

"I don't know that we have enough information yet," Estel began, frowning in worry. He had been questioning the assassin throughout their day's travels, but as night was falling upon them, he seemed to grow tenser and more agitated. Legolas feared that he was not the only one. Gimli was eager for someone or something to fight, the twins were wary, and Nostalion...

It was clear the assassin disliked discussing his family and the past. He had given them as few details as he could and avoided many of Estel's questions, making the king increasingly frustrated as the day went on, and though it did amuse the twins some, Legolas thought that Nostalion was withdrawing further from them. He did not stop as often as he had before the twins' arrival, but their pace still seemed too slow.

"You still have not answered me," Estel said. "Why would the other parties within your family take Eruaistaniel when Meligur has control?"

Nostalion glared at him, though it lacked the force the assassin usually had in his glowers. "I do not know. I was not a part of the family in the way you keep assuming I was. I do not know their motives, nor do I care to. I do think she would be of no interest to Meligur, as I already told you, but I do not know more than that."

Legolas drew in a breath and looked at his friend. "Perhaps—and I do not know how likely this theory is—but if anyone _did _wish to oppose Meligur, they would need to weaken him, and the one most likely to do that is Firyavaryar himself. If they took someone under his protection, they would know he would have to come for them, so if they made him think it was Meligur—"

"He would burn a path to Meligur that left little behind in the wreckage," Nostalion agreed. "Is that enough for you yet? All of this talk accomplishes nothing."

The assassin did not wait for an answer. He swung himself off his horse and walked away from them, disappearing deeper into the forest surrounding them. The horse snorted, starting to graze on the grass at the base of the nearest tree.

"I suppose this is where we make camp, then," Gimli said, grimacing. "Yet another infested forest full of... trees."

Legolas gave him a halfhearted smile, clapping him on the back before he slipped away to find Nostalion. He hoped that he could use Nostalion's loyalty to Varyar to get close to the other elf and either apologize or find some other way to smooth over the tempers and bring some measure of peace back to their traveling party.

He heard a groan, and turned toward it, finding the assassin leaning against a tree, his fatigue all too visible as he closed his eyes and drew in a breath to track. "Nostalion? What is it?"

The tracker grimaced, and Legolas wondered if he would admit to what was bothering him. He had seemed to grow worse as their progress continued, and though they had done more to force him to rest and care for his own needs, his condition remained poor.

"Please," Legolas said, lowering his voice. He knew that Elladan and Elrohir might still be able to hear them, even with the distance between them, and Nostalion was likely aware of that as well, but he needed to tell them—all of them—what he had sensed. "Tell me what is wrong. I know I am not and never will be Firyavaryar, but I would hope that you could tell me."

The assassin looked away. "We cannot linger here."

"We can tell them not to make camp, though we did assume you intended to stop here for the night," Legolas said. He knew they were too far behind Varyar, and he knew also that their diverging course to go for Eruaistaniel could mean his friend's life, but they had agreed that they should end the known threat, the one they could resolve with minimal risk, knowing what they were going into, and he knew that having Nostalion focused was what they all needed. "If you can sense that something has changed, then you need to tell us—"

"No."

Legolas was almost as frustrated as Estel had been earlier now. "If you are worried about Varyar or us turning away from Eruaistaniel because he might need us more—"

"No." The tracker rubbed at his head, and Legolas knew that he was in pain. How much? And for how long had he been suffering?

"Nostalion, please. Let us do something for you or rush to where you would send us if that is what must be done, but you have to tell us what it is that distresses you for us to act."

The tracker shook his head. "Even if I thought we should continue, if we would rush to their aid—we cannot. It is impossible."

"What? Why not?"

"I cannot sense either of them now."


	16. Twisting Even Innocent Dreams into Pain

**Wildest Dreams  
Chapter Sixteen  
Word Count:** 5,065**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** I could have drawn out the suspense of the first scene. I considered it. I went against that, and so there are answers instead of suspense.

Then I decided, finally, to go ahead with this version of events. I had thought about it, liked it but rejected it, and then I was only going to do part of it, but it came back to its original concept instead. Whether that is good or bad is debatable, and I do feel very bad for Eruaistaniel. I remember before I started this discussing how she could be the only one who ended up hurt (or was it dead?) besides Varyar, and I was supposed to spare her all of this.

I didn't. I am... apparently almost as evil as Ogol. Or maybe just the diet coke of evil like a different megalomaniac would say.

* * *

**Twisting Even Innocent Dreams into Pain**

"What do you mean, you cannot sense them?"

Nostalion glared at Aragorn, but the assassin's glower lacked force. He did not seem to have as much strength, though if that was the cause of his apparent inability to track, then he should have said so hours before. They were not going to help anyone if Nostalion could not lead them to the people that they needed to find. If his senses were worn down by his fatigue, then he should have rested. This could all have been avoided if the Avari was not so stubborn.

"Are you suggesting, perhaps, that the alterations Draugminaion made were also reversible in your case?" Elladan asked, frowning. "I did not think that could be possible. It was different for Varyar—he was carrying a poison that _did _have a cure. What was done to you altered parts of you that could not be reversed without... well, without death, from what I could tell."

"Though _Ada _has not examined you, that was his conclusion as well," Elrohir agreed. "Though we all admit to considerable ignorance on the matter for we have not been able to do more than observe your talents—and our father has not even done that."

Nostalion grunted. "You are correct—you know nothing."

Legolas shook his head, and Aragorn thought he was frustrated with all of them—something rare enough from the prince. He did not show frustration often. "I think you are all being unfair. No one is giving Nostalion time to explain even if he was unwilling to make it. We have all been demanding answers, but that is not what we should have done. We need to listen. That is something, I fear, none of us have done. We have chased fears and dreams, rushing after threats that might not have been real. In this case, it was, and Varyar _has _been taken, as well as Eruaistaniel, but if we had not gone, would she have been? Can we consider ourselves blameless in her disappearance?"

Nostalion's expression darkened. He, of all of them, would feel that loss. He was responsible for Eruaistaniel, both as her cousin and as the one that Firyavaryar would leave in charge of the household in his absence. He was a tracker, an assassin, and he should have been able to protect her, but he had not been there. He had agreed to Aragorn's request, and he had led them away from her, essentially abandoning her to whoever took her—her family that had harmed her before—or someone else.

"I suppose the other thing we have avoided is asking the question I think Legolas fears most," Elladan said, diverting everyone's attention. "Does your inability to sense them mean that they are, in fact, dead?"

Nostalion looked away. "You want to assume my senses have failed completely."

"You are tired. This pace has punished all of us, and you have less rest and more responsibility," Legolas told him. "We are worried about the effect this has had on your health. You have been struggling, and it is of concern to all of us. If rest alone would bring back your ability to sense them—but that is too much to assume. We do not know what caused your current difficulty, but as you have been of such assistance to us, as we have been dependent upon you to lead us where we must go, we do want to find some way of... helping you."

"You assume that there is something wrong with me," Nostalion said. He shook his head. "There is not. I can sense Sérëdhiel. My son. Alassë. Thenidriel. Idhrenion. Even that elf you call my uncle—I can sense _them. _There is no fault in my senses. They have not disappeared. They are not gone, undone by some kind of... cure. I cannot sense Firyavaryar or Eruaistaniel. They are the only ones I cannot find."

"Them and Ogol."

Nostalion gave the dwarf a look, the only acknowledgment he gave the words. "They are gone. I cannot lead you to them. We can go in the direction they were when I last sensed either of them, but that is all I can give you."

"Then... they are dead?"

* * *

"_There you are, pet. I was starting to believe that you had succumbed to those herbs after all. Such a pity. You are supposed to be stronger than that."_

"_I thought you said I could not die unless you allowed it," Firyavaryar muttered, not wanting to lift his head. His throat was not as sore as it had been, his voice unhindered, and he did not know how long he had been unconscious. Long enough for some partial healing to occur, and judging from the_ _darkness, they were at their destination. This was familiar, this low light. This was how Ogol kept all of his rooms, enjoying the shadows even in private. He was still hiding. Varyar would have called him a coward if he had the strength to withstand the beating that would come after he did._

"_You are not," Ogol agreed. "Yet you have been trying to defy me, and you will continue to do so. That much you have already stated. You insist on challenging my control, and so I will change my methods accordingly."_

"_So I am not going to be given more herbs. That is acceptable."_

_Ogol laughed. "So quaint, pet, as always. Tell me, what will you give for her freedom?"_

"_Not this game again. We played. I lost. She bargained with you. You let her go, but you let me believe she had died. I will not play again. Kill me. I do not care."_

"_Don't you? She loves you, doesn't she? And you promised her protection. So, Firyavaryar, what will you give for her freedom?" Ogol pulled his robe out of the way, revealing a prone figure bathed in unnatural light, and Varyar did not need Ogol to tell him who she was._

"_Eruaistaniel." He forced himself to his feet. "You have me. You can do as you wish to me. You did not have to take her. She was never yours to claim."_

"_I could say that as I claimed you and you claimed her, then I have rights to her. However, it is not your claim that causes her presence here. It is your behavior. Do as I require, and you will both remain unharmed. Defy me, and she will suffer."_

_Firyavaryar lunged for him, but Ogol caught the chain and yanked him back._

"_You are hurting her, not me or yourself."_

"_If you hurt her, I will kill you," Varyar promised. He would pay back any injury Ogol inflicted upon her. He would ensure that the sorcerer suffered._

"_Will you?" Ogol cupped his chin, leaning into his face. "It would be simpler to spare her that pain by doing as you're told."_

"_And I told you that I would rather die."_

"_Yes, yet I do not believe you wish_ her _to die, so you_ will _cooperate."_

* * *

Eyes opening in a panic, Eruaistaniel screamed before he leaned down to whisper in her ear, and when she heard his voice, she stilled, outcry silenced. Her breathing slowed, and he lifted the cup to her lips, nudging them open to get the nutrients to her. "Drink this."

She took a few sips, the liquid dribbling down the side of her mouth. She was still feverish and weak, and no one had cared for her since he had seen her last. He did not understand how she still lived after all she had suffered. She was more stubborn than she knew. "I thought... How am I home?"

"You are not."

She frowned. "You are here. I do not understand. How are you here and this is not home? You have come to take me there again, as you did before. You... This must be home."

"It is not."

"Do not lie to the creature, pet," Ogol advised from behind him. "This is your home now, and since it is, it is also hers. You know that as I do. Now get her ready, and be quick about it. You will be late if you are not careful, and that would displease the _nost. _You may rule by fear, but even fear can be overthrown."

Firyavaryar almost laughed. Ogol should heed his own warning. He would be undone, as soon as Varyar found a way to do it, and it was almost all in his hands. He controlled two _nost, _and if he was going to make them into an army, it would not be one _for _Ogol. It would be one _against_ him.

He did not know how he would manage it when Ogol held so much against him, when he was killing children to force Varyar to obey, when he held Eruaistaniel and threatened others besides her, but he would find a way. He would not give Ogol an army.

"Leave us, then. You need not humiliate her as you did me," Varyar said, disgusted by the reminder of how he had been dressed by Ogol. The wizard insisted on a certain appearance, and he did not trust Firyavaryar to do it himself. Suppressing a shudder, he resolved to ignore the feeling that surfaced when he thought of Ogol's hands on him as he arranged his outfit.

"I am rather disinclined to leave you, seeing as you have hardly behaved since you awoke, violating our agreement multiple times," Ogol said. He laughed. "Then again, I suppose you deserve time alone with your bride."

"Bride?"

"Ignore him," Varyar told her, trying to help her sit up. He did not know how Ogol expected her to play any part in this after the beating he had given her, but he knew that Ogol would not accept any excuse, even one he knew was valid because he had caused the pain himself. "We will clean your wounds and change your clothes. You will feel better afterward."

She moaned, leaning against him. "I cannot move, Varyar, not even for you. I do not have the strength to follow you out of here, not a second time."

Ogol laughed. "How charming. She thinks you will save her. Varyar the protector, the one who always rescues his family—she still believes that is what you are. How far from the truth that is."

Firyavaryar glared at him. He had fallen far from the image Eruaistaniel had of him—if she knew who he was, who he truly was, she would never have loved him, and Ogol seemed determined to crush that, breaking her by destroying her illusions of him. "If you do not want to be late, then you should let me treat her wounds and leave us in peace."

"Get her ready," Ogol said, not moving. Varyar sighed, knowing there was no kind way of doing what had to be done in front of him. "Now."

"Drink more of this," Firyavaryar told her, having her take the cup. "As much of it as you can, and try not to flinch too much. I will do what I can for these wounds."

She pushed at her skirt when he tried to move it out of the way so that he could treat wounds on her ankle. "Leave them. I do not—I cannot—Varyar, _please."_

"Do you think I have not already seen all you would conceal?" Ogol asked, causing Eruaistaniel to shudder and cling to Varyar with a choked sob. "You are such a weak and unworthy creature. I should have killed you, but I found your affection for my pet amusing. I fear it has lost its small appeal, though, and if you do not move fast, it will not save you a second time."

Firyavaryar put a hand on her face. "Look at me, Eruaistaniel. I will guide you through this, but you must do as I ask. No protests, no questions. Only compliance even if it hurts. Do you understand?"

She nodded, and he shifted so that he could conceal as much of her as possible, saying nothing more as he cleaned the wounds and applied herbs to speed their healing. She finished the cup and set it aside, so he gave her the brush, hoping she had enough strength to do that herself because they did not have much time.

"You need to stand so that we can switch your dress. It should help to be in something clean—and the fabric is softer than what you were wearing."

She winced, but she did not fight him as he helped her to her feet. He did not look as he removed the garments soiled with her blood, ignoring his own fury, easing the clean ones over her head and letting them fall to her feet. She smoothed down the skirt, stumbling as she did.

He caught her and steadied her. "I do not think you can wear shoes. Your ankle is still swollen."

She tugged on the dress. "I doubt anyone will notice. I have not worn anything this fine since they announced my wedding to Tegalad."

He frowned, and she squeezed his arm, leaning against him. "They killed him that night, and I had his blood on my dress for so long after that night... His and mine and..."

"Ogol needs me alive," Varyar told her, and she looked up at him. "You need not fear my blood staining your dress."

"That hope you would instill in her is rather amusing, pet. You tempt me to make a liar of you," Ogol said, evoking another tremble from Eruaistaniel. "Perhaps later. Now we are late."

* * *

"My lord, you are late," Velediion said as he rushed up to them outside the meeting chamber. "I fear if you had been much later, both of the _nost _would have revolted. As it is, I do not know how you shall keep any sort of peace here—I fear there are almost none who are pleased to learn that the new leadership we were hoping for has bound both houses together. We are old enemies, and that will not be quieted easily."

Firyavaryar glared at the aide. He did not want to be in the middle of a feud, though that was where Ogol had placed him—had _created _him—to be. He would have to bind both houses under his control, end several millennia of bickering, and then he was supposed to turn them over to Ogol.

His head already ached, and he felt Eruaistaniel's weight upon him, though she was a light thing, barely fit to call an _elleth. _He was weak and in no mood to listen to Velediion or any of the other "advisers" he had unfortunately acquired.

"Even though we began the redistribution of the food and stood ready to begin the changes to the housing, they have now challenged it because if we are going to combine the _nost, _we have to redistribute the food between both of them, not just the one. Others are demanding explanations, details—they want to know what happened to—"

"Varyar," Eruaistaniel dug her hand into his arm, her voice a low whisper, "please."

Ogol was torturing her by making her stand and walk—she was too weak to do either of those things. Firyavaryar drew her close to him, trying to take on more of her weight and ease her pain. He thought Ogol was snickering to himself, though he did not hear the laughter this time.

"So you will have to tell them again about her death and—"

"Silence," Varyar ordered, uncertain how much longer he could hold Eruaistaniel. "Velediion, I refuse to hear anything else from you or anyone else until the lady is given somewhere to sit. Then, I suppose, you _might _be allowed to speak."

"Forgive me, my lord, I did not realize—my lady, pardon us, we have been remiss in our hospitality, but if you come with us, we will see to your needs—"

"Though Lady Eruaistaniel is quite fatigued from her travels—her health has been poor of late—I do not think she or Lord Firyavaryar would want to be separated at this time," Ogol said, sounding rather smug. "I am certain you will take excellent care of Firyavaryar's bond."

Eruaistaniel gave a sort of strangled cry, and Varyar held her tight against him, speaking into her ear. "Hush. I know this is hurts, but I will see you through it."

She nodded against his chest, though she still whimpered when Velediion approached her. "Please allow us to give you whatever you need, my lady. I must say this is—we are privileged, yes, to have you with us and to know that the line of succession is clear. Now if you need—"

"Leave us," Varyar commanded, tempted to kick the other elf. Eruaistaniel faltered, and he helped her back up. As much as he did not want to injure her further, he did not think it wise to reveal just how weak she was by carrying her.

"I trust you," she whispered. "I _do._ Yet... I cannot do this. They think we are—that I am—No. Varyar, please, there is more mercy in you than that. Do not ask this of me."

He could not do otherwise. Ogol wanted this—yes, he wanted it to hurt her, using it against both of them as well as showing just how much of a hold he had over Varyar to make him agree to this, but if either of them refused, she would be killed, and that was not something he would allow. No one else was dying because of him or for Ogol's schemes.

This would end, and she would not suffer further.

"You should not keep your subjects waiting, pet. I am certain they will be most interested in seeing your bond as well."

"You are a monster. No amount of pain is enough for you, is it? You have already hurt her. You do not need to humiliate her as well."

"Humiliate her? Do not be absurd, pet. You may not have an official title—not a king, not lord of Imladris or Lórien—and she is far from worthy of you, but I have made her a queen."

* * *

Eruaistaniel had fallen asleep against his arm, and Firyavaryar would have joined her, as bored with the politics as he was, but he was unwilling to let himself succumb to his memories or waking dreams, not even if Ogol chose to help them along. He knew he did not have much control here, and he would lose what little he _did _have if he could not appear collected in front of the _nost _that he was supposed to lead. He had a better hold over his father's, since the leaders underneath him had seen what he did to Melimdur and could see his resemblance to Erurainon, but his mother's _noss _did not have that. Some refused to believe that he was Calathiel's son.

If Sérëdhiel was here, her appearance alone would have silenced them. Even Idhrenion would have helped, since he carried more of the features of both their parents, but Varyar did not want either of them here. He did not know if Sérëdhiel did carry a second child—he had told someone she did, but he was far from certain of that, even she did not know—but he would not risk Tirithon, who was still too young to be away from his mother. And Idhrenion...

Firyavaryar did not know how the other _nost _regarded twins, but Alassë's family would kill her if she had a set, and Varyar had begun to believe she did based on the differences in her behavior in this pregnancy from when she carried Thenidriel.

He shifted, not wanting to think of what might befall his niece. He knew it should not be a relief that the assembly was convinced Eruaistaniel's fatigue was caused by carrying his heir—it was not for her; it was torture—but it was, if only in the sense that he knew if anyone sought to recreate the past chaos and confusion of leadership, they would start by eliminating his heir.

She was threatened, yes, but they would focus on her—only her—and he could protect her. He could do nothing if they went looking for Sérëdhiel or Idhrenion or any of the children. He did not like thinking in those terms, did not want to risk her being harmed again, but he knew of no other option for keeping the others protected while Ogol held him.

Numbers, small balances, all of it was so precarious, and Varyar knew he could lose everything even if it was not Ogol who took it. That was perhaps the worst part of this trap.

Firyavaryar rubbed his forehead. "Is there anything else that must be discussed today? You organized hunting parties to seek out the creature that killed the children, the food and housing issues have been seen to—"

"You cannot give away my home to some beggar from another _noss. _I will not permit it."

Varyar sighed. "You are one old elf who has a home fit for twenty. You do not need the space, and it is not my doing that your family is all dead or despises you too much to live with you, but I will not see you waste that much shelter when others are suffering due to the harshest of conditions and raids by the _edain. _If you wish to defy me, you may join Melimdur. Now go."

"My lord," a new elf said—at least one that Firyavaryar did not recognize from any previous whining. "I am Belfinien, of the _noss _established by Rission. We are small in number, and in recent years, we have suffered great many losses. Though it pains me to do this, our counsel has heard of you and your decisions and would like to pledge our _noss _to yours in vassal service."

Ogol wanted that, Varyar was certain, but he did not want the monster to have his army. "I do not know that I am interested in such a pledge. I already have more elves to watch over than I care to have, and I just finished redistributing the assets among them. I do not want to do it again. It makes my head ache."

"Varyar," Eruaistaniel whispered, and he looked down at her. "Do not turn them away. Their need must be very great to debase themselves so and ask this of you. No one in my family would have been willing to do so."

"Your family is full of idiots."

"Please," she said, and Firyavaryar grimaced. She did not know what she was doing, and for that she must be forgiven.

"Very well. Lady Eruaistaniel has interceded for you, and your request is accepted. I will have to approve the latest redistribution of resources later," Varyar said, rising. He offered his arm to Eruaistaniel, who gave him a timid look, blushing as she stepped forward to take it.

"Thank you, my lady," Belfinien said. He turned to Firyavaryar. "You are most fortunate to have such a compassionate and beautiful _elleth _for your wife."

Varyar nodded, trying to keep his reaction calm, not wanting to hurt her or risk Ogol's ire for failing to uphold the charade. "Yes, I am aware of just how little I deserve her love."

* * *

"I should have thought you'd be pleased to have earned a night's respite," Ogol said, and Firyavaryar glared over at him, knowing that the night had been far from a respite. Ogol seemed pleased with Eruaistaniel's intervention in Belfinien's request—that was the claim when he left them alone in the darkness—but that was not kindness. Varyar would not forget the bitter sound of her tears, the sobs she tried to conceal but could not after cooperating in that farce. They were for him torture, but Ogol already knew that.

"What would please me greatly is your death," Varyar told him, covering Eruaistaniel's hand when she grabbed hold of his arm. "Which I will have, Ogol, for all that you have done to my family and these people—you will die."

"Oh, but your bride would give me mercy. She does not like you killing anything."

Varyar said nothing. Eruaistaniel might not want him to kill, but he knew he would do it regardless of her wishes if it meant freeing any of them from him and ending all of this. He knew it was likely to end in his own death, but he had already accepted that. He had tried it once, and he would do it again.

"Come now. You are late for the second time—it is a poor precedence."

"I am certain you will blame that on her 'condition,'" Varyar muttered, and Eruaistaniel's hand gripped his arm again, but he did not know if that was because of his words or another's, as they both heard a voice they recognized—that she feared—echoing across the meeting chamber.

"Look at you. This meeting is already a waste," Meligur said. "I should have declined the invitation in spite of the rumors. Only a fool would think this time would be different."

"Varyar—"

"Come with me," Ogol said, taking Eruaistaniel off of Varyar's arm. "You should sit. Let Firyavaryar speak with him. I am certain it will be worth watching."

"No, please—"

Ogol must have done something to hurt her, for she fell silent, and Varyar glared at him. He could have followed and tried to free her, but he knew where Ogol wanted him and what he must do if he was to spare her further pain. He walked into the room behind Meligur, motioning for silence from the aides that were about to address him and fawn over him.

"I was told we were meeting with all _nost," _Meligur said, snorting in disapproval as he watched them halt in their speeches. "I see your squabbling continues. Can it still be that after all these years you are unable to pick a leader?"

"I would not advise trying to fill that role yourself," Varyar said, as he drew nearer, knowing that Meligur should never have let him approach. "No one would choose you. Not only do you betray your own, but you do it in the stupidest of manners possible, ones pathetic and cowardly. Tell me, who kills those who disagree with you after the slavers were gone? You are too weak to put their blood on your own hands, after all."

"You never were very creative in your insults, Firyavaryar, but I do not have to hear them. Nor does anyone else." Meligur sneered. "You have no rights here. Your house, if you still call it that, is small and insignificant. The only thing you could hope to do is beg for someone to adopt your pitiful _noss _as Belfinien must have done, but no one would accept your pathetic hovel."

Varyar laughed. "I do think that you will regret saying that. In fact, you will regret a great deal. You do recall that my parents were named Erurainon and Calathiel, yes? You should have known long ago what I now almost delight in telling you. As their firstborn son and heir, I now control both _nost, _and the leader Belfinien swore allegiance to was me. Now you have insulted both houses and angered most of the assembly, and while it will make negotiations difficult, I do find that amusing."

Meligur spat on the ground, still disgusted. "You cannot be their leader. Even if you are the son of the last heirs, you would never be accepted here. Do they not know what you are? If they did, they would not permit this."

"They already have. I am their leader," Varyar said. "I control two _nost _and the majority here."

"Excuse me, my lord Firyavaryar," Velediion said, approaching with Yalaserien and Belfinien at his side. He exchanged a nervous look with the other elves and then continued, "but as we understand the situation within Meligur's _noss—_that is to say—well, it was Belfinien who said it, and we were not certain, as we do not know all of the details of their succession, but we believe—that is—it is said that Meligur leads in the place of an elf that died."

"Yes," Meligur said, annoyed. He looked like he might kick the obsequious elf, but Varyar moved a knife in front of him as a warning and received a glare in return. Meligur turned away. "You waste time with this. It is not a secret. I do lead in the place of one who died, as I did before he was considered old enough to lead, but he died without heirs and after considerable strife, leadership fell once more to me."

"That is where you are mistaken," Belfinien said. "It was never Tegalad's place to take—he was to receive it only upon his marriage."

"That is true. That role of leadership you fill has never been yours, Meligur. It belongs to Lady Eruaistaniel. The right is in her family line, not yours or his," Ogol corrected. "Though since a female was not permitted to lead on her own because of your laws, she was only the one through whom control of your _noss _was to be obtained. That leadership is by right that of her bond."

Varyar gagged, knowing what was coming now. He almost dropped the knife and backed away, unwilling to hear it. Meligur frowned at him, and he did not know how weak he appeared, but he did not want to accept this.

"But, my lord Firyavaryar," Velediion protested, shaking his head at the others even as Belfinien nodded. "Is not Lady Eruaistaniel—that is... she is..."

"My bonded, yes," Varyar answered, understanding why Ogol had chosen her. It was not only about controlling Firyavaryar, nor was he merely trying to twist the love she felt for Varyar into more pain. He had done it knowing that Eruaistaniel's husband had the right to the _noss._

With one elf—with Firyavaryar—Ogol had taken control of the three largest Avari _nost. _He had his army, and he had his leader, and Varyar was thoroughly damned.


End file.
